


The Perks of Casting a Patronus

by FedonCiadale



Series: Phoenix Potion Universe [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of the War, And they were co-workers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Jealousy, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Neville Auror, Pansy Auror, Slow Burn, Wizarding society still has issues, so much mutual pining, two dorks in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FedonCiadale/pseuds/FedonCiadale
Summary: It's three years after the second wizarding war. Pansy Parkinson and Neville Longbottom both work for the DLME.Pansy's mother wants her to marry well, but she wants to do the job she likes. Neville is in a relationship with Hannah Abbot. There is no way that a Slytherin and Gryffindor might get along, or is there?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Series: Phoenix Potion Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026012
Comments: 235
Kudos: 146





	1. New Aurors (September 12, 2001)

**Author's Note:**

> So, here is the first chapter of my Panville fic....   
> I don't really know, how often I'll be able to update. I should be able to update at least once a week.

Pansy had done it. She had finished her training as an auror and had done so with distinction. Now, she would have a chance to prove herself. Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt shook her hand and congratulated her and she found herself smiling back at him. As an auror-in-training she had not seen much of Shacklebolt, but she had come to respect him. It did not hurt that he was the only other auror who had been in Slytherin.

She knew it would still be an uphill struggle in the department, but nobody could claim that she had passed her training because of favouritism. No Slytherin was favoured nowadays. Unlike Gryffindors. She put her foot down on her resentment. She knew that Harry Potter would have passed with distinction as well if he had actually been put through the training like everybody else. Something could be said for the fact that the ‘man-who-lived-twice’, who had defeated the darkest wizard since Grindelwald, did not need to prove to anybody that he was capable of defeating dark magic. Ron Weasley on the other hand… The only thing that redhead excelled at was the department’s quidditch practice.

During her training, Pansy had occasionally worked with the Gryffindor Duo and it had really been a strain on her. Potter was not meticulous enough in her opinion and Weasley... As she had told her younger sisters in confidence, Potter worked twice as hard to cover for Weasley’s blunders.

Shacklebolt now proceeded to shake Neville Longbottom’s hand. Longbottom was half a head taller than the head auror. He had passed everything with flying colours and rightfully so. Pansy still did not know how the clumsy boy who had been so hopeless that her Slytherin friend Draco had called him ‘the almost squib’ had become such a skilled wizard – and such a good-looking man as well. She stamped down on that familiar feeling. Longbottom was with Hannah Abbot, a Hufflepuff from their year.

When Shacklebolt had finally shaken Will Smith’s hand as well, the whole department stood and clapped for the six new aurors. Usually, there were only three to four aurors-in training each year, but the department was still a bit short-staffed after the war. The DMLE had suffered some losses in the second wizarding war, one of the reasons why Potter hadn’t gone through training.

Potter closed in on Longbottom and clapped on his back. Weasley opened a bottle of champagne and soon an impromptu party had started. Pansy felt a bit awkward about that. Smith opened the door and visitors came to celebrate with them. Hermione Granger, the curly-haired third of the Golden Trio entered together with even more Weasleys. Luna Lovegood, the Ravenclaw that was more than a little strange entered as well and ran straight to Neville to hug him.

There were no visitors for Pansy, her parents being not that happy with her choice of job, and her sisters in Hogwarts. Slytherins knew better than to show their nose in the auror department.

Nevertheless, someone shoved a champagne glass into Pansy’s hand. Pansy looked up and saw Charles Baxter, an auror who was about ten years her senior, a brilliant analyst.

“Thanks,” she said and took the champagne. She did not know that Baxter had anything against her, but she was careful despite that and only pretended to sip. She put the glass on the board and did a discreet discovery spell on the liquid. The champagne turned out to be clean and Pansy took a mental note to rank Baxter higher on her inner list of who to trust.

Pansy talked with Baxter, concentrating hard on the topics at hand. Sometimes she cursed her traditional upbringing but not on days like this. She had grown up expecting an arranged match and her mother had drilled into her that she probably would have to rein in any feelings. Thus, it was not that hard to not let her eyes wander and look out if Hannah Abbot was even there.

To Pansy’s surprise Shacklebolt joined Baxter and her and their job-related talk. She wondered what he wanted. From the corner of her eyes she noted that Potter and his friends were standing right behind her. She tried not to check if Neville was with them and studied her now empty glass. She almost missed the moment, Shacklebolt finally came around to ask what he probably had wanted to ask all along.

“Are you in contact with the Malfoys, Ms. Parkinson?”

Pansy looked up from her glass. The head auror’s hand with a champagne bottle hovered over her glass.

She nodded curtly, and Shacklebolt poured her some more champagne.

“I visited them with my parents when Lucius was released from Azkaban,” Pansy answered. It had been an awkward visit. Her parents still held on to the old beliefs, but they had become quite adept at faking that they had abandoned it all. Her mother had even boldly stated in a café on Diagon alley, that they would not arrange marriages for their daughters. Pansy would definitely hold her mother to that.

“Do you think they have an idea if their son is alive?”

Pansy blinked.

“I don’t ask this as your boss, Ms. Parkinson. You’re not obliged to say anything. I just had the feeling that they were not straight forward when I asked them, and they might be more open to friends.”

He let his teeth shine in a smile. “I really would like to close some of the Death eater files.”

Pansy scrutinized the head auror. He knew. Well, he was a highly competent head auror. That he had been an order member in the war had come into his promotion, but the promotion had not been bestowed on the wrong choice.

She harrumphed. The Malfoys had used their own blood to locate their son. That was skirting the boundaries of the law. Blood spells were illegal, but only if you used the blood of others. If it came down to it, the Malfoys probably would not be accused only for searching for their own son.

“They did a blood spell,” she finally said. The Malfoy reputation was ruined anyway. Admitting that they had done an almost dark spell would surprise no one.

“And?”

“The result was ambiguous.”

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow.

“I know, it should not be possible. And I doubt they blundered with the spell. Apparently, Draco is alive, but they failed to locate him. Lucius Malfoy has doubled the reward for finding his son.”

“That’s strange. If he is found, he’ll face a trial,” Baxter frowned.

“He’s never killed anyone,” Pansy defended him.

“Hmm.”, Shacklebolt cautioned her raising his eyebrows. “Remember what Selwyn said on his trial.”

Pansy pressed her lips together. As the daughter of ‘passive followers’ as they had been dubbed, she had learned that her attempts at pushing a differentiated view on the second wizarding war was not valued. She sullenly remembered a shouting match she had had with Weasley a month ago.

“Hear, hear!”, she heard someone say and turned. The circle of Gryffindors in her back was rather large. Just to her left stood Hermione Granger. She had a death grip on her glass of champagne and looked as if she had seen a ghost. She shook herself when Pansy’s gaze met hers and Pansy shrugged. It was not as if Granger was a friend. Whatever had spooked her had nothing to do with Pansy.

Dawlish stood on a chair and Pansy suppressed a sigh. He might be a decent auror, but speeches were not his forte. Dawlish had been in charge for some of their lessons and he made Professor Binns look like the pinnacle of entertainment.

Dawlish’ speech in honour of the new members of the department dragged on, and Pansy smiled in a practiced manner. Sometimes all her lessons with her mother paid off. Her smile even held, when her eyes came to rest on Neville who had an arm around Hannah’s shoulders. Ignoring the sharp pang in her heart was something, that was almost easy by now.

Finally, Dawlish came to an end.

“Raise your glasses to our new colleagues!”

Glasses clinked and there was a lot of hooray for the new aurors, mostly for Neville. Some people even clinked their glasses with her. Hannah Abbot came over and congratulated her and Pansy did her best to accept graciously.

It would be so much easier if she could just hate Hannah, but the former Hufflepuff was a kind woman, just the right person to run a pub. The Leaky Cauldron under Hannah was leagues better than it had been.

Pansy made a mental list of all the tiny things she would change in Hannah’s outfit, if she were her friend. Her lipstick was a shade too dark, her hair could do with a charm to make it glossier and the skirt she wore did not show off her legs to her advantage. She told herself that it was not petty if she just thought that in her head.

Neville shook her hand after Hannah had done so.

“Wonder, when we’ll get our first case, eh Parkinson? I’m sure you’ll do well.”

Pansy wondered if hands could blush. The way all her blood seemed to have flooded into her hand certainly made her feel like that could happen.

“Thanks, Longbottom. I’m sure you won’t do too bad either.”

Longbottom asked about her plans for a party and Pansy dodged his question. She would have a nice little party at her flat, just with Theo, Daphne and her younger sisters. Blaise might drop by as well. You could never tell with him. But to invite any of her colleagues would only complicate things. Hannah told her that there would be a party for Neville in the Leaky in a week, and even invited Pansy when she realised the awkwardness. Pansy feigned a meeting with her parents and ignored the relieved look on Hannah’s face.

After Shacklebolt had left so that the party would be a bit more relaxed, as he said, Dawlish climbed a chair again. Now was the time for presents. All the colleagues had collected money for presents for the new aurors. Pansy herself had given her share but did not expect to be given anything. She was surprised that she was included, although her package was considerably smaller than the others.

Smith got an uninspired broom cleaning set, Winnow a book, Sanders, the expert on potions, a high quality cauldron, Chesterton a pair of dragonhide gloves and Neville unsurprisingly got a fine sample of a mimbelus mimbletonia, his favourite plant.

“We thought you would like your own,” Weasley said. He was grinning. “You always complain about the department’s tea and coffee mugs.”

Pansy opened the card that came with the present. They had signed all.

“I complain about the condition of the tea and coffee mugs, not the mugs themselves. Because I am the only person here doing the dishes,” Pansy clarified. “ _Scourgifies_ simply are not enough.”

Pansy unpacked her gift with a flick of her wand and did a non-verbal spell to detect possible hexes. To Pansy’s relief her wand did not light up. Nothing malicious in her present then. That still did not rule out a prank.

Pansy looked at a mug that held a picture of a flower bed with black earth full of pansies in different colours, close to blooming.

“This actually looks nice,” she said. “And it’s clearly mine.” For a moment she was pleasantly surprised.

She looked in Weasley’s face and immediately became wary. Weasley was not very good at hiding his thoughts and now she was quite sure that a prank was involved.

On a hunch she _accioed_ one of the teapots and poured hot tea into the mug. It couldn’t be something too bad or her spell would have warned her. She expected some bubbling over, or maybe the liquid would vanish once it hit the bottom of the mug. Maybe the hot tea would even imitate a fountain.

Nothing like that happened. The mug just became dark as Pansy filled it to the rim. The flowers withered and vanished.

Pansy frowned. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

The glee in Weasley’s face showed her that she had not yet gotten the joke.

Smith pointed at her mug, a fake look of terror on his face.

Pansy turned the handle of the mug, so that she saw the other side.

There it was. The Dark Mark, right on the mug. Pansy could feel her heart pound at her ribcage and wondered if anyone could hear the thuds. She should think about altering her spell. To include offending.

“Ah,” she flashed her teeth at Weasley. “I guess that it disappears again, when the tea gets cold?”

She waved her wand, and the mug was filled with a block of ice. The pansies appeared again, just on the brink of unfolding their petals.

Pansy raised her voice accompanied by a smooth amplifying charm. “Dear colleagues, thank you so much. This is so considerate. I guess this is a good reminder, that in the end, spring always wins.”

She scrutinized the mug. “And of course, that you should drink your tea hot, not cold, otherwise a dark wizard might get you.”

She flashed her teeth at her colleagues. “At least, I can take care that this mug will always be clean.”

She levitated the mug and slowly let it down on a desk that had a window to the right, just like she liked it. “A mug and a desk, I’m all ready to begin work tomorrow.”

Saunders arched an eyebrow at her, and bowed his head in respect, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

Potter looked at his hands, studying his nails. Pansy wondered, if he had been in the know. Dawlish’s face gave away his sullen disappointment. What did he expect? That she would burst into tears? Pansy smirked. She had survived the Carrows. She would survive this.

Just to spite them further, she stayed although she had promised Daphne to drop by. The afternoon went by in a blur and Pansy barely registered what she talked about. Her back hurt from standing straight, but she’d be cursed if some stupid Gryffindors drove her out of the job she wanted just because they refused to let it lie.

At some point she found herself in a conversation with Baxter again. He patted her shoulder, if a bit awkwardly. He was a Puff through and through. That act of kindness was far more dangerous than the prank. Pansy blinked rapidly and decided that she had stayed long enough. She went to the desk she had claimed as her own, took her quill out of her bag and placed it beside the mug. Clicking her heels, she passed her colleagues on the way to the exit.

Neville, who was talking to Lovegood, turned when he heard her. His hand shot out to stop her in her tracks.

“Parkinson.” His face was serious. “I had no idea.”

This was even more dangerous than Baxter’s awkward pat on the shoulder.

“I know that, Longbottom,” Pansy pressed out, hoping her voice would not sound strange.

Her dignity was saved by Lovegood of all people. She smiled at her with a vague friendly kindness, her blue eyes focussed on Pansy’s face.

“Deftly done.”

“What?” Pansy asked, puzzled.

“You drove off the wrackspurts in such a wonderful way.”

What the hell were wrackspurts? Pansy wondered if the witch was crazy.

She was about to say so, never mind the fact that the witch seemed to be friendly, when Neville explained. “Wrackspurts are beings that thrive on fights and conflicts. It’s a shame they came here today.”

Pansy had to smile. “Next time I’ll tell them to mind their own business.”

“I’m sure they’d listen to you.” Lovegood nodded at her. “I wish I could handle them half as well as you.”

Pansy took it as a compliment.


	2. Conundrum at the Leaky (September 19, 2001)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah throws a party for the new auror Neville at the Leaky Cauldron, when wanted death eater Draco Malfoy unintentionally pops the party by resurfacing in the wizarding world.

“I get it Nev, the pansies on Parkinson’s mug were your idea, but you were not responsible for the prank, and neither was Harry.” Hannah pursed her lips and there was a shadow of a frown on her forehead. “That was George’s idea.”

Neville knew then that he’d better not dwell on the disaster of a present that Parkinson had gotten last week.

“Anyway, you saw her, Parkinson was just fine about that. She’s probably seen the Dark Mark countless times in her life.”

Neville sucked in his lower lip. His eyes met Luna’s on the other side of the table, and he found some understanding there. At least Luna also thought that George had overdone it. He decided to drop the subject. He didn’t want to spoil the afternoon Hannah had arranged as a treat for him. The Leaky was packed with young wizards and witches. Hannah said that they had come for him, but Neville knew that Hannah had promised a few rounds of extra free beer and drinks and that she had made an effort to spread the tale.

Anyway, apart from Parkinson all the other new aurors were present. Neville could have done without Smith, but he would have to get along with him and there were so many people that he could easily avoid him.

Harry and Ron were the only friends of Neville’s who were not present. Right then, Seamus and Dean came over and clapped on Neville’s back and urged him to join them at the bar for another fire whiskey. Neville let himself be guided away after giving Hannah a quick peck. He was in that state where he was just this short of becoming hazy. He knew that the whiskey Seamus shoved into his hand would have to be the last. Neville did not particularly like becoming heavily intoxicated.

Seamus and Dean toasted him and repeated their back clapping and Neville almost choked on his drink. He glared at Dean, but the friends just laughed at his face.

“Honestly, Neville, for a guy that tall, you really should be able to do with more alcohol.”

“You should get drunk at the celebration of your new job,” Seamus put in. “Take advantage of Hannah’s generosity.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “I don’t like being drunk.”

They would not understand. For them it was a question of having fun, for Neville it was a question of having control over his body. He would not let anyone, or anything have control over him ever again, not after the Carrows.

Dean and Seamus told him about the new flat they had moved into. They had decided on a flat in Muggle London.

“It’s really easier for two guys in love.” Seamus shook his head. “I wouldn’t believe Dean, but our new landlord didn’t even blink twice when he realized we’re a couple.”

“You should make more of your friendship with Harry,” Neville told them. “If you’d stress that you’re friends with the Chosen one, people would fall over their feet to give you a flat.”

Seamus looked at him strangely.

“Hermione always says that there is no harm in exploiting some of the war-hero fame for the purpose of a good cause. And introducing the idea to the wizarding community that gays exist, is a good cause.”

Dean laughed. “You know that might have worked, if we actually were war heroes.”

He exchanged a look with Seamus.

“But you are,” Neville insisted. “You fought at the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“As did several others.” Dean shook his head. “We are not like you, Neville.”

“Me?” Neville looked at them flabbergasted. “I’m not a hero.”

Seamus laughed. “If you say so.”

Neville opened his mouth to explain to his friends why he was not a hero and that it was ridiculous to say so, when he realized that somehow the pub had fallen silent.

He turned.

In the middle of the room stood Draco Malfoy, of all people. People had given him a rather wide berth although his stance was not menacing and he held both hands up at about the height of his shoulders, palms turned outwards, fingers spread.

Smith closed in on him with a raised wand, his face eager and intense.

“Stupefy”, his colleague yelled.

The red light of the spell sped towards the death eater, but when it hit him, there was a sizzling sound and nothing happened.

Malfoy took a step and the people shuffled uneasily further away from him. His hands were still halfway up in the air.

Neville had grabbed his wand and threw a non-verbal _petrificus_ _totalus_ at Malfoy. He was not the only one. Neville saw stunners fly from several directions. There was again that sizzling sound. Malfoy must have learned to wandlessly cast a very strong shield charm.

Neville approached him carefully, his wand on the ready. Several people and not only aurors fired at Malfoy, but there was still just that sizzling sound. Neville would wait until Malfoy had exhausted himself and then dive in with a well-placed hex.

It was only then, that Neville registered that there was a middle-aged couple standing behind Malfoy. He frowned. Somehow, they seemed familiar. The man had very curly hair.

“You might as well stop all that hexing. You should have realized by now, that it is pointless.” Malfoy might be a wanted death eater, but he still managed to have that slightly haughty condescending tone in his voice.

He still showed his hands, palms outwards in a gesture that should be unthreatening. The effect was spoiled though by the dark mark that peeked out of the sleeves, that had slid downwards.

The shouting and the curses died down and so did the strange sizzling sound. Malfoy let his hands sink and readjusted his cuffs.

No one moved. It was as if the whole pub had been stunned and silenced.

Malfoy turned to the middle-aged couple behind him. “This might be more complicated than I thought. I did not expect the Leaky to be that packed in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.”

His gaze wandered around as if he was looking for someone.

“Ah Lovegood,” he finally said.

It took Neville three long strides to stand beside Luna, his wand raised. Luna looked at Malfoy as if she wanted to study some unknown creatures around him. She had not even taken out her wand as if she were not in danger. Luna really should know better.

Malfoy raised his hands again. “I mean no harm.”

Neville scoffed.

Malfoy ignored him, his eyes glued to Luna’s face.

“Lovegood, may I present Monica and Wendell Wilkins. Hermione Granger might be interested in their whereabouts.”

It hit Neville then, where he had seen the couple. He must have seen them on platform 9 ¾ when they had brought Hermione to board the Hogwarts Express.

“Hermione’s parents.”

Neville let his left hand fall on Malfoy’s wand arm, his right hand still had his wand ready. “What did you do to them?”

“Nothing.” Malfoy tried to brush his arm off, but Neville fastened his grip. He would not let the death eater get away.

It was as if Neville’s action had dissolved the uncanny spell that had frozen everyone. Chesterton and Winnow emerged at Malfoy’s back and Chesterton grabbed his left arm, turning it and fastening it to his back.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are arrested on behalf of Magical Law Enforcement. You are accused of murdering muggles, attempted murder on wizards and witches, membership in a terrorist organisation, harbouring a criminal and using unforgivables. You have the right to remain silent.”

Neville could have slapped himself. There had gone his chance to claim an important arrest in his first week as auror.

“And isn’t that an impressive list?” Malfoy remarked.

Malfoy hissed with pain when Chesterton moved his detained arm upwards.

“Easy there, Chesterton,” Neville said.

“Shacklebolt will be so pleased.” Smith shouldered his way at Malfoy’s side pushing Neville and Chesterton aside.

“Off with you to Azkaban, death eater scum,” Smith had taken both Malfoy’s arms and detained them on his back.

Neville shook his head. “We should question him first, at the department, make a file, contact a lawyer, and then….”

Smith grinned. “He is accused of murder. We can get him from Azkaban for questioning.”

He readied his wand to do side-by-side apparition.

“Wait,” Malfoy said. “You cannot….”

He did not manage to finish his sentence. Smith had already waved his wand and the tell-tale crack of apparition resounded in the air.

But only Smith vanished. There was that sizzling sound again. Malfoy stood suddenly free of any detainment. He shook his arms and grimaced.

Winnow jumped him, waving his wand for apparition the moment his hand touched Malfoy.

Another crack, and Malfoy remained where he had been.

“You cannot side-along me.”

Other aurors tried their luck as well, but Malfoy had spoken the truth. With each crack it was only the aurors who vanished, never Malfoy. The aurors returned so fast, that the air was filled with the sounds of apparition.

The unrest in the pub grew with every attempt, and the murmuring became louder. Chesterton suggested a portkey but that proved as futile as the attempts to apparate.

Finally, Neville had enough. He stepped in before Smith could make another useless portkey.

“Just stop it”, he shouted. Silence fell.

“You’ve had your fun, Malfoy, with whatever it was you did. Still, you are under arrest. Will you come with us to the department without resistance?”

“Just for the record, I did nothing. It is just that magic has no effect on me.”

Neville frowned.

Malfoy looked at him and sighed. He nodded. “You’ll have to walk me wherever you want me to go.”

“The department.” Neville gestured at Saunders, the only other auror who had kept his head through the conundrum. “That’s the standard procedure anyway.”

Neville put the exceptional unprofessional behaviour of his colleagues down to their excitement to apprehend a real death eater, if only a minor one. Saunders came to stand by Malfoy’s left side. Neville positioned himself at his right.

“I’ll do a quick wand search,” Neville told him.

“I don’t have a wand.” Malfoy protested, but Neville bent down and patted at Malfoy at the places where wands could be hidden and came up with nothing.

“You’ll be searched thoroughly at the department.” He took Malfoy’s arm in a grip that would not be that easy to shake off.

“Mr Malfoy promised us that we could learn here where our daughter is.” Monica Wilkins’ voice carried through the silence and let Neville stop in his tracks. Her eyes were a mixture between bewildered and fearful.

Luna came to the rescue.

“Hello, Mrs Wilkins, Mr Wilkins. I’m Luna Lovegood, a friend of Hermione’s. I’ll bring you to her.”

“Will you be o.k., Draco?” Mr Wilkins had a worried frown on his face.

Malfoy nodded. “You go with Lovegood to your daughter. I knew it was likely I’d be arrested.”

“Likely!” Smith’s face was red with anger. “You’re a murderer.”

“I am not.”

“This will be decided at your trial, Malfoy,” Neville told him.

He, Chesterton and the accused walked to the department. Fortunately, it was only a few blocks away. Malfoy only asked why the Leaky had been so full and made no trouble.

“We had a party to celebrate our appointment as aurors last week,” Neville told him.

“I walked into a party of new aurors?” Malfoy shook his head ruefully. “Well, that’s my luck, I suppose.”

When they reached the department, they met Harry and Ron who had returned from their mission. Ron was gleeful about Malfoy’s apprehension, but they were at a loss about what to do with him, when it became obvious that no spell would go through whatever shield it was that protected Malfoy.

Finally, Harry transfigured some iron bars to a clever muggle device he called handcuffs and clicked them around Malfoy’s wrists. Dawlish suggested they put Malfoy in a bureau on the second floor. They searched him down to his skin but found no wand and no magical artifact that could explain his immunity to spells. Malfoy refused to answer any questions without his lawyer and they finally left him in the bureau with something to eat and a basic equipment of a cell.

Neville volunteered to take the first watch until midnight.

“If push comes to pull, I can knock him out,” he told Dawlish.

That did not prove necessary. Neville checked about every hour, but the prisoner was still there when he looked. When Chesterton relieved him at midnight, Malfoy had fallen asleep.

When Neville left, he went to Parkinson’s desk. Before he could think better of it, he had written ‘Draco Malfoy was arrested yesterday’ on a small piece of paper. He waved his wand to disguise his handwriting and to put a strong ‘do notice’ charm on it attuned to the first person who would arrive at the desk. He knew Parkinson was always early. She would find the message and would be prepared in case Smith would pester her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this and the following chapter are mentioned in chapter 51 of The Phoenix Potion. But I don't think you need to read that to understand this fic.


	3. Calling on the Suspect (September 20, 2001)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy learns about Draco's arrest.

‘Draco Malfoy was arrested yesterday’.

Pansy stared at the little note warily. She didn’t recognize the handwriting. Had this been placed by a friend? Or someone who wanted to mess with her?

She reminded herself that she did not have friends at the department. Did they honestly expect her to try to break out a known death eater? The very first week she had started as an auror? The note was probably just meant to unhinge her, regardless if it was true or not. She incinerated the little piece of paper with her wand and took her mug to the kettle to brew herself a coffee.

Thanks to the note though, she managed to keep calm, when Draco’s arrest turned out to be true. Smith arrived when Pansy had finished her coffee and she learned from his gloating that Draco indeed had been caught and put into one of the empty bureaus on the second floor. Apparently, Smith had been called in to guard the prisoner.

Pansy frowned. “Has nobody done his file yet? This is irregular.”

Standard procedure was to question the accused and prepare a file with the accusations. Then he would be brought to Azkaban or to house arrest depending on his crimes. Draco had little chance of house arrest even with his mother being a known defector. The list of this crimes was too long. But an abandoned bureau as a cell?

“Saunders did the file”, Smith told her. “There is a problem with bringing Malfoy to Azkaban.”

His mouth was a thin line, a sure sign, that he was not happy about it. Pansy decided not to insist on an explanation.

She went to the files instead and looked it up when Smith had left for his guard duty.

Even with Saunders’ terse account of the events, Pansy had to suppress a smile when she pictured the ruckus that had happened at the Leaky. Draco had not been caught. He had come to the Leaky in broad daylight and the new aurors had arrested him. Apparently, Draco was in a mysterious ‘condition’ that prevented any magic from getting through to him, and Saunders reported that ‘several attempts’ to bring the accused away had failed. Draco was to be detained under close guard in the department until a decision about his ‘condition’ had been reached. No visitors were allowed for now, only his lawyer.

The list of crimes Draco was accused of filled the next page of the file. Her heart sank. If he did not manage to come up with any mitigating circumstances, he’d land in Azkaban for years. She had just put the file away, and closed the drawer, when Chesterton entered and made directly for the kettle, grunting shortly in a way that could be interpreted as a ‘good morning’.

Pansy answered with a smile and a more intelligible greeting and went back to work. Dawlish had given her some files on potion ingredients smuggling, something she had to work on with Saunders.

After a while she felt watched and looked up to see that Chesterton’s eyes were on her, a calculating look on his face.

“Yes?”

“You were one of his friends, weren’t you?”

Pansy nodded. At one time, her and Draco had even been more than friends, although Pansy did not know if their fooling around a few times fell into the realm of boyfriend and girlfriend or if it should just be labelled under ‘mutual coping with rampant teenage hormones’.

“You could go and see him.”

Pansy shrugged. “His file said, no visitors until there has been a decision on his ‘condition’.”

“I could go with you and we call it ‘questioning’ in the file. He might tell you something. He has been rather close mouthed, insisting on a lawyer.”

He chuckled. “Not that lawyering up will help him much. He’ll get a duty solicitor like every other death eater.”

Pansy did not hesitate. Whoever had left the note on her desk had done her a huge favour. Her instinct would have been to say no, but it was just like it had been with Shacklebolt. She could not deny this request. It was fortunate that she had had time to think about it beforehand. She needed to prove herself as trustworthy, if she ever wanted to do something other than checking potion ingredients smuggling. She would count on Draco to not have evolved into a tittle tattle in the last three years. She would be careful to ask no questions that could possibly endanger his defence.

Smith reluctantly let them into the ‘cell’. Draco sat on a chair and looked out of the window. His face actually lit up when he saw Pansy.

“Hello Draco.” Pansy studied him. He looked far better than the last time she had seen him, not like a thin teenager who didn’t eat enough. He was a man now.

“That Smith told me I wasn’t allowed visitors.”

“Strictly speaking I’m not visiting. I’m an auror now.” Thank Merlin, Draco seemed to understand her immediately.

“Well, that is a surprise. A pleasant one.” He smiled. “You survived the battle of Hogwarts.”

Pansy winced at the memory. Draco would not know about her very public demand that Potter should be delivered to Voldemort, just before the battle. It was unlikely that Pansy would ever live that down.

“McGonagall brought all the Slytherins and small children into the dungeons.” She smiled ruefully. “The Slytherins for their torn loyalties and the children for safety.” She still remembered the awful long hours when her sister Rylla and her had huddled together wondering if their parents were involved or not, who of their schoolmates would be dead and who would be alive by the end. She also remembered the huge relief, when it had been over, when it had just been over.

“Slughorn should have done that.” Draco said.

“Slughorn should have done a lot of things.” Pansy shrugged.

They both laughed.

“How did you survive?” That might not be a dangerous question.

“Barely,” Draco gave her a lopsided smile. “They probably have told you about my condition. I am under a very strong perpetual shield.”

“So, that’s why you can’t be hexed?”

“Nothing in, nothing out. I’ve told that to your colleagues several times, but it seems to be too difficult to grasp for most of them.” He smirked.

Draco hadn’t lost his bite then, that was sort of a relief.

“I have never heard of a shield that can do that, so you should cut them some slack.” Pansy said.

“You have heard about it. Just now,” Draco shrugged, but didn’t elaborate. “I’d invite you to try. Every other auror had had a chance to hex me, but I know you won’t waste your time on a pointless endeavour.”

“Nothing in, nothing out.” Pansy studied him.

“Nothing out,” she repeated. “Does that mean, that you can’t do magic?”

She suppressed a shudder.

Draco smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Ah, there! You cut right to the important stuff.”

Again, he did not elaborate. Pansy was glad, he kept his secrets, but she had to give a semblance of trying.

“Where have you been since Voldemort’s fall then, Draco?” she asked.

He gave a jerk at the name.

“Muggle London,” Draco answered. “I had forgotten everything, including who I am.”

He shrugged. “Post-traumatic stress disorder, the muggles call it.”

He turned the ring on his left hand. Pansy recognized it. The ring held the Malfoy family crest, but the last time she had seen it, the stone had been green, not black like now.

Chesterton scoffed. “Memory loss. Isn’t that convenient.”

Pansy shot her colleague a deliberately angry look and tried not to let her relief show. Leave it to Gryffindors to try to use her to get information and then blunder by taunting Draco and reminding him about the reality of him being a prisoner and her being an auror.

Draco’s eyes met hers. He shook his head in the slightest way possible.

“So nice of you to check on me, Pansy,” he said. “Don’t you worry. You owe me nothing.”

She burned to ask him more questions. How he had survived without magic, why he had decided to give himself up now, why he had brought Hermione Granger’s parents with him of all people. She wondered if she should do that. She opened her mouth several times.

“I would be very much obliged, if I could get back my papers and my pencil. Just that I won’t bore myself to death before the dementors have a go at me.” He sounded so playful, just as if they were having a normal conversation in the Slytherin common room. “If the Weasel is to be believed, everyone in the wizarding world is just waiting for the spectacle of my trial.”

He turned to look out of the window, his face at such an angle, that Chesterton could not see it.

“If you happen to learn if Lovegood actually reunited the Wilkinsens with their daughter, I would be much obliged if you told me as well.”

“If you think that this will help your case, Malfoy, think again.” Chesterton spat. “Your list of crimes is far too long.”

Draco ignored him.

“I will try to inform you and I’ll tell your parents, that you’re alive, Draco. But I’ll have to check with the head auror.”

Draco inclined his head. “Thank you.”

When they had left Draco’s ‘cell’ and had returned to their office, Chesterton chided her for not asking more questions.

“You didn’t give me any chance to warm him up.” Pansy retaliated. “You just had to taunt him.”

They fought about that for a while and Chesterton only stopped pestering her about her ‘blunder’ when the head auror Shacklebolt arrived.

He let himself be briefed about the Malfoy case and allowed Pansy to inform his parents. To Pansy’s secret amusement, he chided Smith and Winnow for making fools of themselves by their repeated failed apparition attempts in the Leaky and praised Neville and Saunders for keeping a cool head.

Pansy had not known that Neville was involved in the arrest. She regretted burning the note. She could have come up with a way to check if it had been Neville who had written it. And then she chided herself. Even if it had been him, it was just his usual kindness. She reminded herself, that he was with Hannah and that the reason he had been in the Leaky was that Hannah had thrown a party for him.

“Judge Caius Prewett will be presiding the Malfoy trial,” Shacklebolt informed them. “Malfoy’s duty solicitor is to have access to him for two hours a day.”

He looked at his aurors with a strict mien. “No skirting that, no listening in. We play this by the book. It’s bad enough, that we have to resort to this unusual cell.”

“Isn’t Prewett due to retire?” Baxter asked.

“Yes, he said he wants to finish his career with an easy case.”

Pansy winced. That was not very promising. Prewett was a competent judge, but who knew who would take the defence. Death eaters had no right to their own lawyer. If someone like Geoffrey Sloane was appointed to do the duty soliciting, Draco would be doomed.

Shacklebolt stood to show that the briefing was at an end and dismissed them.

“Ah, Ms. Parkinson?”

Pansy turned to the head auror.

“You are relieved from guarding the prisoner.”

Pansy felt her cheeks redden. “Sir, I would never….”

Shacklebolt raised a hand. “For the record, this is not because I mistrust you. It’s a precaution. If I would want to break him free, I’d do it on your watch and frame you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that much Panville yet, but rest assured, there will be more soon.


	4. Scutum (September 28, 2001)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione tries a new spell

Hermione of all people had been appointed as a duty solicitor to Malfoy. Several of the aurors had been gleeful, that the muggleborn war hero would defend the death eater. They expected her to do the bare minimum. Neville was certain, that they were bound to be disabused. Malfoy was luckier than he deserved. Hermione took her job seriously and she would defend him to the best of her abilities. Even if Malfoy had had free choice in his solicitor, he could have hardly found someone better. Neville had only shared his opinion with Luna though. Ron was not in the best of moods as it was. Hermione’s parents barely remembered their daughter and Hermione had postponed their wedding to concentrate on sorting out how she and her parents could reconnect. Neville could hardly believe it, but Malfoy actually had nothing to do with her parents’ condition. He had chanced upon them and had decided to lead them to their daughter. Neville wondered if Chesterton was right and it had been some convoluted plan to negotiate on his own behalf, that Malfoy’s scheme had only been thwarted when he had run into their party.

It was only two weeks after his arrest, that the riddle of Malfoy’s ‘condition’ was solved, at least in part. Hermione had come down to their office after her consultation with her client. She was looking for Harry and Ron, but they were out, and it was only Neville, Saunders and Parkinson that were at their desks.

“Neville, can I use you as a guinea pig?”

“What?” Neville wasn’t entirely sure what this muggle expression meant. Where pigs from guinea different from normal pigs? Neither was he sure if the sparkle in Hermione’s eyes was a good sign.

“It’s nothing permanent.” Hermione assured him.

Neville nodded warily and Hermione pointed her wand at him.

“ _Scutum_ ”.

A curse shot out of Hermione’s wand, white as hot iron. Neville felt nothing.

“What’s this supposed to do?”

Hermione had a very concentrated look on her face.

“Try to do a spell.”

Neville waved his wand, but nothing happened. A cold shudder ran down his back.

Hermione lowered her wand and grimaced. There was a droplet of sweat on her forehead.

“The _scutum_ spell cuts off the person from magic. Completely.”

A small smile with a triumphant tinge curved her lips.

“Nothing in, nothing out.”

“Is that Draco’s condition?” Parkinson asked. She stood up and came closer on clicking heels. A ray of sunshine came to rest on her dark bob and made her black hair shine.

Hermione nodded. “It even shields from unforgivables.”

Neville was intrigued. “Hermione, can you cast it again? Saunders, Parkinson? Try to hex me?”

Hermione complied and Saunders and Parkinson hit him with a tickling hex each.

Neville scoffed. “A _protego_ could have shielded me from that. Do your worst.”

Saunders cast a vicious cutting spell that just slid off him.

“Try to side-along me, Parkinson,” Neville asked his colleague.

She hesitated for a moment, but then touched his arm with her fingertips and apparated. Neville did not feel the familiar apparition pull, but just heard a crack. While Parkinson disappeared, he remained where he was. He rubbed his arm that somehow was covered in goosebumps.

Hermione mopped her brow. “That is a really taxing spell.”

Parkinson reappeared with a pop, a smile on her face, that made her teeth flash. “I wish I had seen the conundrum at the Leaky.”

“So, even unforgivables are blocked. How do you know?” Parkinson asked Hermione.

“Who invented that spell?” Neville wanted to know.

“Severus Snape. He taught it to Draco. And Draco shielded me with it when we were caught and brought to the Manor.”

Parkinson’s eyebrows had climbed under the fringe of her bob. “Draco shielded you? What story is that?”

Neville looked at his feet. He could feel heat in his cheeks. Hermione had told that story often enough to her friends, but Harry and Ron had never believed it and neither had Neville. When Harry, Ron and Hermione had been on their hunt for horcruxes they had been caught and brought to Malfoy manor, Voldemort’s residence at the time, although the dark wizard had fortunately not been there at the time. Hermione had been tortured by the evil Bellatrix Lestrange before they had managed to escape. Only, she always claimed that she had felt nothing, because Malfoy had done something.

Neville really wanted to know if it was possible. Hermione had barely finished her story to an astonished Parkinson, when he asked his friend to cast the spell one more time on him.

“Now, Parkinson, throw a cruciatus at me!”

Parkinson paled. “Are you insane Longbottom?”

“We need to know if it’s really that effective!”

“I refuse to do that!” Parkinson had become quite agitated. “We are not supposed to do unforgivables!”

“Come on, before Hermione gets tired. We need to verify that. It’s not as if I can’t take it.”

She looked at him, her mouth open, appalled. Neville thought he saw her eyes shimmer.

Saunders stepped in.

“Longbottom,” he said. “I get why you are excited about that. I’ll try it. If you swear you cover for me, when I’m questioned by the head auror.”

Saunders cast the curse. “Crucio!”

Neville felt nothing. Nothing. He laughed. There was a countercurse to the cruciatus. He felt giddy, happy, safe within a cocoon of benevolent magic.

“That is splendid.”

Hermione lowered her wand.

“Uff,” she said and let herself fall on a chair.

Neville gripped his own wand and tried his luck at the spell. He came down from his excitement, when he realised that it was not that easy.

“How long did it take you to learn that?”

“Draco told me about it during our first meeting. I’ve tried ever since.” Hermione confided in him.

There it was again. Draco. She had called Malfoy ‘Draco’. Neville wondered about that.

“But it can be learned.” Neville smiled. His gaze fell on Parkinson again. She was still somewhat pale.

“Don’t you see, Parkinson? Just think about what an edge that would give us against dark wizards and witches.”

She bit her lower lip.

“I see that.” Her voice sounded strained and she took a shuddering breath.

“But how is it perpetual with Malfoy? It seems to be a non-durable spell.” Saunders asked.

Hermione raised her shoulders. “I wish I knew. Draco’s memory about that is very hazy. But I’ll find that out.”

Saunders scoffed. Neville reined himself in. He would not scoff at his friend for believing in Malfoy’s very convenient amnesia.

He took to his chair again. There was still some paperwork after all.

“Parkinson?” Hermione was not done yet. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded, her mien devoid of emotion.

“Is there anything you remember about Draco that could speak in his favour?”

Parkinson licked her lips. “What do you mean?”

“Something he told you, that shows that he was not a fervent follower of Voldemort.”

“If he had not been a fervent follower, he would never have been so stupid as to mention this to anyone.”

Hermione sighed. “Maybe not something he told, how he acted, anything.”

“He always tried to skip the Carrows’ class.” Neville chimed in. “And they always taunted him for his sub-par cruciatus curses. He never meant any of them.”

“We had an understanding,” Parkinson said.

“What kind of understanding?”

“If he were called to crucio me, I would fake the pain and vice versa.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Just what we could get away with.”

“Anything else.”

“I’m almost sure he was up to something in the Room of Requirement.”

“Ah,” Hermione’s interest was piqued. “How did you know?”

“I never knew,” Parkinson bit her lip. “It was just a hunch, nothing that would be acceptable in court. Just that I saw him hanging around the entrance a few times.”

“Did you not try to find out?” Hermione wanted to know.

Parkinson shook her head. “No. I could not give away what I did not know. I never tried.”

“Give away to whom?”

Parkinson looked at Hermione as if she had gone mad.

“Hermione,” Neville could not hold back. He tried to remember what Luna had explained to him. That nobody who had not been there in the school year of 1997/98 truly understood. “The Carrows. Parkinson had a younger sister in Hufflepuff.”

“The Carrows had us all in their horrible grip. People would confess anything to be spared, or to spare their family.” Parkinson drew a shuddering breath. “Draco was luckier than me. At least in that regard. There was no one he needed to protect, not at school anyway.”

Her voice had become a whisper. “Longbottom was the only one who dared to resist them.”

Neville shook his head. “That’s not true. Many people did small stuff. Seamus used jumping crackers. McGonagall tried to shield the first and second years, and Nott always warned me when he did patrols by being particularly loud.”

Parkinson shot him a look. “Were you in an understanding?”

“We never said so explicitly, but I knew.” He smiled at her. “And you did not report me.”

Her gaze met his and did not waver. “That one time.”

He shrugged. “Once is more often than never.”

Hermione harrumphed. “Am I correct, that you would be willing to be called as a witness on Draco’s behalf?”

“Of course.”

“And you Neville?”

“I’ll do you the favour, Hermione, but Malfoy has more pressing concerns than the _cruciatus_ the Carrows made him do. Mr Weasley pronounced an amnesty for these anyway, and rightly so.”

Hermione rolled her eyes for a short moment. “I know that Neville.”

Then she gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I just want all the pieces to fit for the verdict I’m going for.”

“And pray, what will that be?” Saunders asked.

“Well, I’ll plead that Draco defected, obviously.”

Saunders choked on his tea and coughed loudly.

“Obviously,” Parkinson said.

Neville could not be sure, but he thought there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a mistake and posted the wrong chapter at first... Silly me!


	5. Aurors against the defence (January 10, 2002)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy witnesses the fall-out of Auror Weasley with his fiancee, the lawyer Hermione Granger, over the Malfoy case.

Pansy was sipping at her tea from her mug. Someone had altered the enchantment a few days ago. Pansies of a dark purple colour in full bloom appeared, whenever hot liquid was filled in. If you looked very close you could still see a shadow of the Dark Mark, but someone had made an effort to let it disappear behind the golden yellow spadix of the flowers. It was beautifully done. That was the only nice thing that had happened to her for quite a while though. Pansy suspected it had been Baxter who was working with her on the potion ingredients smuggling case. It could not have been Longbottom. Longbottom was always polite, but he had practically told her that he thought she would have no qualms about casting a _cruciatus_.

That had hurt so much. Didn’t he know that the main reason Pansy had decided on becoming an auror was the Carrows? That she never wanted dark wizards like them to raise their head again and establish a regime of hatred and torture?

Ever since Draco’s trial started, and Granger actually argued ‘defection’, the state of the trial was a constant subject of discussion at the department. It was no surprise then, that there usually was a ruckus when Draco was led to his ‘cell’ after the day’s sitting was done and the newest events were discussed. The odds for the betting board were redone, and the amount of galleons in the betting jars grew constantly. Pansy’s galleon was still the only one in the jar that read “acquitted”, not because she really believed that Draco had a chance, but that galleon had been a statement.

Pansy had not been to any of the sittings, apart from the day she had been called as a witness. Today must have been bad though. Draco’s face usually gave nothing away, but his shoulders looked slumped and Ron Weasley placed another galleon in the jar that read “five years minimum” while Draco was led through the office. There was a smug look on the Weasel’s face. Pansy was dying to know what had happened. She would try to coax some information from Saunders or Baxter tomorrow, since they were the only ones willing to talk to her, or she might try to get the gist from the Prophet.

That slightly crazy Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood entered the office together with Ginny Weasley. The redhead gave Potter a kiss and Lovegood put a bag on Longbottom’s desk.

“Here, Neville, Hannah will like that.” Pansy wondered how Hannah would feel about a present that had been chosen by Lovegood. Well, maybe the Weasley girl had done her part as well.

“You’re a lifesaver, Luna.” Longbottom gave her a hug. The number of hugs that man gave sometimes made Pansy wonder about his sorting. He was almost a Puff. On the other hand, nobody could question his Gryffindor courage.

“Will Hermione come here, before we go to the Leaky?” Lovegood asked. “I wanted to ask her something. I have a theory.”

Pansy looked into her mug and tried not to roll her eyes. When Lovegood had elaborated on her theory that Draco had used a muggle method to meditate and that this had caused his magic to disappear, Pansy had groaned involuntarily and rolled her eyes. Neville usually was fiercely protective of the blond, and he had scowled at her.

“Tell us your new theory,” Weasley prodded Lovegood. “Did you take my testimony into account?”

Lovegood looked at him with her big blue eyes. If Pansy had it right, there was pity in them.

“Ron,” Neville’s voice had an undertone to it, that might have been a warning.

Lovegood drew her wand and made a complicated movement over Weasley’s head.

“Hey,” he protested, his face reddened. “I don’t need an anti-wrackspurt spell.”

“Are you sure about that?” Granger had entered the office. Her curls looked somewhat wild and though her fists were not balled, her jaw looked clenched. Granger certainly had proved to be a dedicated defence, and Weasley’s testimony must have riled her up. Pansy curiosity was growing by the minute.

When Potter saw Granger, a wary look entered his face, that was at odds with the forced sanguinity with which he announced their immediate departure to the Leaky to celebrate Hannah Abbot’s birthday.

Weasley fidgeted. He opened his mouth. Potter tried to shoot him a warning look, but Weasley did not look in his direction. His eyes were glued on Granger.

“You know,” he said with a pout. “You really could have toned down in the courtroom.”

Potter shook his head. The female Weasley closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

“What?” Granger’s voice was sharp. “I beg your pardon?”

“You really could have toned down your zeal when you did the cross-examination. Being more of a supportive fiancée and all that.”

Pansy moved her chair inconspicuously out of the line of possible hexes. Granger had a temper after all. She noticed that others did the same. Everyone was giving the Gryffindor couple a wide berth. Neville had moved in front of Lovegood and Potter in front of his girlfriend.

“How many times do I have to spell this out for you, Ron. I am doing the defence to the best of my abilities and if that means that I catch you at your terrible inconsistencies and your faulty reasoning, you’ve only yourself to blame.”

Weasley was getting louder. “Are you calling my a liar?”

Granger narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I didn’t say that, but isn’t it interesting that this is what you heard?”

“Malfoy is leading you by the nose with his story of memory loss and his made-up Phoenix Potion. He’s a death eater and a killer. He killed a muggle family. Why can’t you see that?”

“I found the Watsons. He did not kill them.”

Potter harrumphed. “You must admit that there must be thousands of muggle families named Watson, Hermione.”

When Granger rounded on him, he held his hands up in a pleading gesture. “Just saying.”

“He confunded them. That is why they can’t remember.”

“Another of these highly suspicious coincidences. You arrange everything to Malfoy’s advantage in your head, Hermione.”

“That’s my bloody job, Ron. I’m supposed to find every shred of evidence that helps my client.” Granger’s eyes flashed with anger. She was really getting riled up. “You, on the other hand, twist everything to his disadvantage. Including things that should be blatantly obvious.”

“What is so blatantly obvious in this case, Hermione? Tell me and stop insinuating that I’m too dumb to see it.”

“Draco recognized Harry when we were brought to the Manor. You were there Ron. You must have seen that.”

“Need I remind you that it was you who hexed Harry’s face so that he looked more like a cabbage leaf than a human being?”

“We stood right beside him, Ron, you and me. Draco has seen us together for years. Anyone who was in our class would have known the third person had to be Harry, well anyone but Crabbe and Goyle possibly.”

Granger looked around and her gaze met Neville’s who shook his head, just minutely with a look that was close to panic.

“Parkinson.” Brown eyes met Pansy’s. “What would you have thought, if you had seen a person you did not recognize with Ron and me? Back in our school days?”

Pansy arched an eyebrow at Granger.

Then she smiled. “Oh, must be the three-headed lion of annoyance, the teachers’ pets, the Gryffindors who break all the school rules and always get away with it.”

“Thanks, Parkinson.” Granger stretched out her right hand as if presenting Pansy and looked expectantly at Weasley.

“Hey Parkinson,” Weasley said. “Harry saved us all.”

“Granger asked what I would have thought then, not what I would have said.” She pointed at the jar that held her galleon. “You know where I stand in the Malfoy case.”

“And what would you say now?” Neville asked.

She flashed her teeth. “That you should go to Hannah Abbot’s birthday party, if you want to be on time.”

A tiny part of her was happy that he flushed. She told herself that there were many men who needed help getting birthday presents for their wives or girlfriends. It meant nothing. She reminded herself that Neville had asked her to do a _cruciatus_. On him.

She pushed her chair back to her desk and picked up her mug again. The tea was still hot, since she would not be so sloppy as to forget a stasis charm, and the purple pansies were visible.

“Do you like your mug?” Lovegood asked.

Pansy looked at her flabbergasted.

“You?”

Lovegood nodded happily.

“Dark purple is actually my favourite colour.” Pansy felt a surge of warmth for the dreamy woman and a sliver of disappointment that it had indeed not been Neville who had re-charmed her mug.

Neville’s face was still flushed and he looked at Luna with something that might have been annoyance.

“Hermione, Ron, Harry? Are you all coming?” Neville asked.

Granger shook her head. “Later.”

“Hermione?” Potter said.

She pressed her lips together and turned on her heels.

“I am going to have a talk with my client. We need to discuss today’s sitting. I’ll come over later,” she said over her shoulder just as she had almost reached the door.

“But Hermione, we wanted to talk about dates!” Weasley protested.

Granger stopped in her tracks and turned again. “Dates?”

“Yes, you said your parents remember all the important stuff. A date for our wedding.”

Potter caught Ginny Weasley’s hand before she could slap herself. Pansy admired his reflexes. Although if Weasley were her brother she would have hexed his stupid mouth shut instead of slapping herself.

Granger stared at the redhead for quite a long time and everyone was waiting for her reaction.

“There won’t be a wedding, Ron,” she said in a calm and clipped voice, shook her head and left.

Almost all her colleagues left for the Leaky. Pansy overheard Potter telling his friend that ‘Hermione will come around, she always comes around’. When the door snapped shut behind them, Pansy shook her head.

“Baxter, you should have made a betting pool after all.” Saunders said. “I think your prediction just came true.”

“Not another one,” Pansy remarked. “For what?”

“Oh, the other day Baxter quoted an analysis he has made, ever since he has joined the department.”

Baxter mumbled something Pansy did not understand.

“You were right, you can say it.” Saunders encouraged him.

“Relationship between aurors and lawyers who do defence have a 9 out of 10 chance to not work out. They work against each other in court too often. I might have mentioned to Saunders that I didn’t give Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger much longer.”

“That is not the reason I would have given, but I have been waiting for this as well.”

Pansy almost wished she had an invisibility cloak. She would love to see Draco’s reaction to Granger dumping the Weasel. If her suspicions were true, his mood would probably lighten considerably, despite the fact that Weasley had apparently testified against him. If Granger told him. She almost regretted that Shacklebolt had so firmly discouraged her from visiting Draco.

“Do you think we have enough evidence to bust these smugglers soon?” Pansy asked her colleagues. “I say we try the Quidditch import supplies from France. I noted that Billiwig Sting Slime could be smuggled in broom’s wax.”


	6. Visitors at the Department (April 2, 2002)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy's younger sisters visit her at the department during the Easter break and want to know everything about the Malfoy trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mariana_Monteverde persuaded me to give dates, so that people would know where exactly the chapters stand in regard to the events in Phoenix Potion!  
> Alphabeta love to marydri! Thanks!

Parkinon’s sisters, Rylla and Daisy, paid her a visit during the Easter break. At 15, Rylla was already half a head taller than her older sister. Daisy was still all legs and skinny bones at 13. Neville knew Rylla quite well from his horrific seventh year. Amaryllis Parkinson as was her full name. She was a Hufflepuff and she had been a first year under the Carrows. Neville had helped her and her housemates more than once.

There weren’t many people at the department. Thankfully, Harry and Ron were off, and it was just Baxter, Neville and Parkinson. Neither Baxter, nor Neville would chide Parkinson for showing her new working place to her sisters. Neville wondered about the timing. If he knew Parkinson at all, she had invited her sister on purpose when there was little chance of her less than friendly colleagues being there. She still was not being sent out to field work very often. Neville had offered to partner with her, but Shacklebolt usually sent him out on his own. Next week he was due for an assignment in Hungary, where Yaxley had been sighted.

Rylla waved shyly at Neville, and Neville waved back, genuinely happy to see her. Neville felt like he smiled for real for the first time, since the surprising outcome of the Malfoy trial and the very public fall out of Harry and Hermione. He still didn’t know what to do about that. Luna was confident that it would all get sorted out after a while, and Neville hoped so, but Harry and Ron’s mood was not the best and Hermione had vanished. Honeymoon, according to Luna. Neville bent over his papers again, pretending to be preoccupied.

Parkinson opened one of her drawers and pulled out some biscuits.

“Just a really short visit,” she told her sisters sternly. “I still have work to do. And I’ll see you this evening at home.”

Daisy sat on her desk, and Rylla took off her Hufflepuff shawl and her coat. “Not too short. You have to tell us everything about the Malfoy trial, Pansy.”

“Mother told us not to mention it at all.” Daisy pouted. “She claims you would be upset, because Draco Malfoy was sort of promised to you once.”

Parkinson snorted. “What? That’s not true.”

Neville looked up. That was a surprise.

“I thought there was a contract,” he said.

Parkinson shrugged. “Fanning the flames of that particular gossip saved us both a bit of trouble. Draco was the richest boy in Slytherin after all.”

Rylla stuck her tongue out at Daisy. “See, I told you. Pans doesn’t even like blondes.”

Parkinson blushed. “That’s none of your business, you nosy brats.”

Her sisters were unperturbed.

“Anyway, we can’t talk about the trial at home, so you just have to tell us everything here.” Daisy said.

“We promised our housemates, Pans,” Rylla informed her.

“Why?”

“It’s wonderfully romantic, don’t you think? A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, in the midst of war. He saved her, she saved him. And her being a heroine and all that. And he acted as a double agent. All the Hufflepuffs want to know everything.”

Neville exchanged a look with Baxter. He supposed star crossed lovers was one possible interpretation.

“Harry Potter’s testimony,” Rylla said. “Did he really produce the notebook that held Draco’s drawings of Hermione?”

Parkinson opened her mouth and closed it again. Rylla and Daisy obviously seemed to think that Harry had meant that as a supporting gesture.

“You could have heard a needle drop,” Baxter said.

“Harry Potter’s testimony was favourable. He confirmed that Mal…. Draco Malfoy did not want to kill and that he had helped him when Harry had been brought in by snatchers,” Neville chimed in.

Parkinson shot him a look from under her lashes. Up to a certain point, Harry’s testimony **had** corroborated the argument of the defence, that was true. Neville raised his hands to dare Parkinson to contradict him.

“And then he showed the sketches, so that everyone would know that he had done it all for love.” Daisy clapped her hands.

Parkinson bit her lip. Neville agreed silently with her. Harry had pulled Malfoy’s secret longing out for everyone to see and it had not looked like love, but like obsession. That Malfoy had not truly defected, that he had somehow blackmailed Hermione into helping him at his trial. Collecting on a favour he’d done her, when he shielded her from Bellatrix Lestrange’s torture.

Neville caught himself at the last minute and managed not to shake his head, when Rylla and Daisy looked expectantly at him. Malfoy had almost blown all his chances when he and Harry had gone into a shouting match in the middle of the courtroom.

As if shouting at the hero of the wizarding world would help his case. Malfoy had never had any chill when it came to Harry. On the other hand, Neville did not know how he would have reacted at his secret love, if he had any, being discussed in front of a huge audience. Even if Harry was right and it was just an unhealthy obsession.

But he could hardly tell this to the little girls whose eyes shone with excitement.

“It was an incredible noise,” he finally said. “Judge Prewett had to call for order repeatedly. The aurors including your sister had to hush the audience.”

“And you?” Rylla asked. She still had the same trusting eyes as in her first year.

Baxter laughed. “Longbottom was busy preventing Weasley from murdering Malfoy.”

Neville sighed and closed his eyes. He had had a hard time explaining that to Ron.

“Hermione Granger made a very passionate defence plea.” Parkinson came to his rescue.

“Oh, she’s a good lawyer, isn’t she?” Daisy asked.

“Well, nobody, but your sister bet on Malfoy walking free, at least here in the department. At the very least, her defence was very imaginative, including her stunt to just marry the accused. That certainly tipped the scales in his favour. The wizengamot could hardly condemn the husband of one of the heads of the resistance.”

‘Even if he was a death eater,’ hung unspoken in the air. Baxter was far too nice to rob the girls of their nice story.

“That is true love!” Rylla exclaimed. “Isn’t this just wonderful? It’s such a strong symbol of reconciliation, isn’t it?

Neville smiled at her. Her exuberance was endearing, even though he had difficulties untangling how he felt about the whole trial.

“Well, it was a surprise for almost everyone,” he told the girls. That was true enough after all. “My friend Luna Lovegood was the only one who guessed it.”

He wished he shared Luna’s confidence that all would fall into place. Luna had been so excited about her theories being true, that she had completely ignored Ron and Harry’s anger. And since nobody could be angry at Luna, she even got away with stating loudly that love was in the air. She thought that Ron and Harry would come around and accept Hermione’s decision. That was a fortnight ago, but Harry and Ron had yet to cool down.

Parkinson looked at him, surprised. “Really? Was this one of her theories?”

“She swears she saw limpiepinkies.”

Baxter coughed, although it might have been a scoff altered at the last minute.

“And that is a good sign?” Parkinson asked.

Neville nodded. “These little beings are attracted to love according to Luna.”

“I can’t see any of these, must be a special Lovegood ability” Parkinson said. She looked at her mug with the pansies, that Luna and Neville had altered. Neville was still a bit angry at Luna that she had spilled the beans about that, even though she had kept Neville’s help a secret. Neville walked a fine line there. If his colleagues suspected he was in the habit of helping Parkinson she might have it even harder or someone might come to false conclusions about Parkinson.

“And I can’t say anything about Granger’s feelings. I can assure you though that Draco has had a crush on her for ages.”

And that was the crux of it. Neville could well believe that. After the trial he had looked at Malfoy’s notebook out of curiosity and there simply was no other explanation for all these pictures of Hermione. Malfoy must have loved Hermione for quite some time, even if he had had a very strange way of showing it. Which also meant that he might have shielded her with a _scutum_ from Bellatrix’ _cruciatus_ curse, just as Hermione had claimed for ages.

But what about Hermione’s feelings? Neville remembered how he had felt under the _scutum_ cast by Hermione when Saunders had fired the torture curse at him. Like in a cocoon, safe, protected, invincible. He wondered what the effect would be if someone felt like this not only for a few minutes, but for more than half an hour. What would someone be prepared to do out of gratitude? What would Hermione do?

Neville drummed his fingers on his desk in a short sequence of taps. He had been able to withstand the Carrows’ _cruciatus_. But Bellatrix´? He still shuddered when he thought about the one time he had confronted the dark witch in the Department of Mysteries. And what would he be willing to do if someone saved him from his parents’ fate?

He would have to speak with Hermione as soon as she resurfaced.

“Is it true, that he was disinherited for her sake?”

Neville was catapulted back from his musings to the present and the exited teenagers eager for a love story.

“I would say, Lucius Malfoy only needed an excuse,” Parkinson remarked.

The two girls looked at her, disappointment on their faces.

“What do you mean?” Baxter wanted to know.

“Draco is basically a squib. Disinheritance would have come sooner or later. Lucius could never accept that.”

Neville thought about that. That made too much sense. Prejudices against squibs were widespread. He put his finger in his collar and tried to loosen it a bit.

“Still, Hermione being a Muggleborn came into it as well, I am sure,” he argued.

“Might be.”

“Is it true, that they awaited the judgement hand in hand?” Daisy asked.

“Yes, it was pathetic, really,” Parkinson said, her face straight.

Rylla punched her lightly. “Oh, Pans, you’re such a spoilsport. I’m sure you think it was romantic as well.”

Parkinson laughed, amused, carefree. It sounded lovely. Neville realised that he had not heard her laugh very often.

“It might have been, just a little bit. They certainly looked happy.”

She gave them more biscuits.

“But now, you have to leave. That should be enough to curb your housemates’ curiosity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers of the Phoenix Potion might guess that this is the beginning of Draco and Hermione's popularity in Hufflepuff.  
> Now, you know it: Rylla Parkinson is to blame.


	7. The business with the house elves (April 10-11, 2002)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy is called home by her mother, because there is an unanticipated emergency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @marydri/maybe-hufflepuff for beta-reading!

Pansy’s mother had owled her at the department, first thing in the early morning – or what counted as early morning for her – and practically begged Pansy to come and help her in ‘this crisis’, whatever that meant. Rylla and Daisy had returned to Hogwarts on Monday, and Pansy had thought that she would not have to visit her parents for a while.

She called in at the head auror’s office and was surprised to see Dawlish sitting at Shacklebolt’s desk. Apparently, Shacklebolt had to deal with a family crisis and had left everything to his second for the time being.

Dawlish graciously allowed her two days off. Pansy hoped that, whatever the crisis was, would be solvable until next Monday. The fact that Dawlish did not ask, what Pansy meant by ‘my parents need my help’, made her immediately suspicious, but he signed her application for leave. On her way out, she saw Potter and Weasley brooding over a cup of tea and managed to avoid them. Neville still had not returned from Hungary.

When Pansy arrived at home, her father was nowhere to be seen and her mother was drenched in tears. It took her quite some time to relay to Pansy what the problem was. Apparently, the house elves had refused to do anything unless they got working contracts and payments. It was a full-blown rebellion. And it had started yesterday, when Pansy had done some sleuthing for the potion ingredients smuggling case and had cut off her floo putting a ‘Do-not-disturb’-charm on herself. Pansy’s mother had tried to continue to order the house elves around for a day, but had given up this morning.

“Please, Pansy dear, you must fix this. I’ll have some of the ladies over for tea on Saturday, and I’ll never manage without the elves. And this is so embarrassing!” Ladies probably incorporated several pureblood women. Pureblood women might mean discussions about possible contracts. For her. Pansy shot her mother a questioning look and her mother’s downcast eyes gave her all the answer she needed. Well, that meant there was no real rush in finding a remedy. If her mother’s tea party were cancelled, Pansy would certainly not be gutted.

“The connection of the elves to our family must have been weakened,” Pansy mused. The bond of families and elves was ancient and twisting that bond could only have been managed by a very strong caster.

Pansy started by meticulously searching the house for spell residues. Obviously, she could have tried talking to the elves at first, but her mother’s old-fashioned idea that elves only meant to be given orders, not be talked to, was a hindrance to that approach. For that, Pansy would have to get rid of her mother, somehow, but the longer it took Pansy to resolve this, the less likely it was for the tea party with the ladies to take place. Pansy decided that there was no rush.

The Parkinson’s house might not be as big a house as Malfoy Manor, but Pansy’s meticulous search still took her almost the whole day. She persuaded her mother that she’d better cancel the party now, rather than face a disaster on Saturday and her mother sat down to write cards. Pansy had to cast more than one spell to prevent the ink from bleeding into the paper from her mother’s copious tears. Arianrhod, the family’s barn owl, was rather exhausted when she returned from doing the rounds. Pansy managed to coax her father out of his hiding place in his library and prepared a small meal for her parents. The elves were nowhere in sight, and even when Pansy entered their quarters, she couldn’t find them. Half-heartedly she tried calling for Moppy, the elf that had looked after her, when she had been a child, but to no avail.

The next day, she persuaded her parents to have lunch outside and apparated with them to a little restaurant in Diagon Alley.

The restaurant was packed with pureblood families, including some Pansy was not too thrilled to see. She was relieved to see the Greengrasses with Theo Nott. Daphne and Pansy had last seen each other at Draco’s trial. There was still some room at their table, and Pansy and her parents were invited to join the Greengrasses. That suited Pansy just fine, because there was a real chance that she could vanish once dessert was served and interview the elves on her own. Moppy might be willing to talk to her, if her parents were out of the house.

The reason why the little restaurant, always a not that secret insider tip amongst purebloods was so packed became clear quickly enough. Apparently, the Parkinson elves were not the only ones who were in rebellion and the Parkinsons were not the only ones who had decided to eat out rather than prepare their own meals.

“It’s all Granger’s fault,” Daphne said, a look of slight annoyance about being inconvenienced on her perfect face.

“Or Draco’s.” Theo chimed in.

Pansy’s mother shuddered, as if mentioning Draco could infect them with a disease. She seemed to think that Draco’s condition was contagious – just by mentioning him.

“It’s Arthur Weasley’s fault, that b… poor excuse of a minister.” Rowlan Greengrass, Daphne’s father grumbled. Pansy was sure Mr Greengrass had meant to say ‘blood traitor’ but had caught himself at the last moment.

“Strictly speaking, it is Sammael Malfoy’s fault,” Astoria, Daphne’s younger sister said. Her father shot her an angry look that had her shrink in her seat.

None of this blame game made any sense to Pansy and she said as much.

“Arthur Weasley registered this so-called marriage of the Granger girl and … Draco Malfoy, turning it valid in our world – ”, Daphne’s mother waved her hand dismissively, “ – as far as a muggle marriage can be valid, of course.”

Pansy frowned. “I don’t see the connection to the elves?”

“Because of the house elves pact,” Mr Greengrass spat out.

Pansy’s father stared at the other man. “But Lucius disinherited his son. The muggle marriage of a disinherited son should not trigger the pact.”

“What pact?” Pansy asked frustrated.

“Sammael Malfoy’s pact. He tried to ensure that the heirs of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would only marry purebloods.” This new voice came from directly behind Pansy. She almost jumped.

“Oh,” Pansy’s mother said. “Marcus.”

Indeed, it was Marcus Flint, the former Slytherin Quidditch captain. His tailored suit fit him well, but the fact that he smiled with closed lips led Pansy to suspect that he still had not done anything about his teeth. She had always wondered if the teeth were due to a Flint family curse.

“May I?” Marcus asked.

Pansy’s mother smiled widely at him and ushered him to sit at her side. Pansy would have bet a considerable amount that Mrs. Flint had been invited to the tea party on Saturday.

“My father told me about that, when I visited him the last time,” Theo said, brushing over the fact that that would have been a visit in Azkaban. “The Twenty-Eight made a pact that no heir should ever marry anyone else but a pureblood and tied it to the magic that binds the elves to the Houses.”

“That is why I could not find any disturbance from outside in the elves’ bond to our family. Because whichever Parkinson made the pact with Sammael, he must have been the head of the House.”

She turned to her father. “Why didn’t I know about this?” She could hear the suppressed anger in her own voice.

Her father patted her hand. “No need to occupy your pretty head with that, my dear. That’s Rufus Parkinson’s worry, when it comes to that.”

Pansy bit her lip. Rufus was the son of her father’s cousin who would at some point inherit Parkinson House.

“Anyway, I don’t see how the marriage of that squib interferes with our house elves.”

Pansy flinched at her mother’s disdain for Draco.

“He was not yet disinherited when he married Granger.” Theo remarked. “That’s why.”

“This is where Arthur Weasley comes in,” Rowlan Greengrass growled. “He should never have registered the marriage.”

“But when he registered the marriage, Draco was already disinherited,” Daphne said in desperation. “And he is not a wizard any longer.”

Pansy shook her head. “The registration validated the original marriage, which happened before the disinheritance, when he was still the Malfoy heir. And that triggered the pact.”

“And Draco is still a wizard. He is just incapable of doing magic, at the moment,” she added.

“Yes, that is why they have to get a divorce,” Marcus remarked.

“I beg your pardon?” Pansy asked.

Pansy’s mother clapped her hands. “Ah, yes, splendid. Then everything goes back to normal again.”

Pansy stared at her mother.

“They might be disinclined to get a divorce,” Theo mused. “I sincerely hope that nobody would suggest more drastic measures.”

“Oh, killing any of them wouldn’t solve the problem,” Marcus threw in. “On the contrary. That would destroy any chances to revert this mess.”

“Well, that is a comfort to know,” Pansy mumbled under her breath.

“So, we just have to write this Granger woman and tell her that she should divorce the squib,” Pansy’s mother clung to this solution.

Daphne and Pansy let out a disbelieving laugh at the same time. The men at the table glowered at them.

“I think you should care more about the inconvenience that this whole mess means for all the good families. It’s your filial duty to support us. You could write to her,” her mother pouted.

Pansy could not help herself. She laughed again. “Believe me, when Hermione Granger learns that her marriage led to a house elf rebellion, divorce will be the last thing on her mind.”

Theo chuckled. “I almost spewed at the thought.”

Daphne, Theo and Pansy all three laughed. Astoria smiled shyly at the joke. Their parents were at a loss.

“Hermione Granger started a campaign to free house elves in our third year. A campaign, she called S.P.E.W.,” Pansy explained. “And she is as stubborn as a mule. There is no way she’ll budge.”

“Oh, I think she will budge. The Wizengamot has it well in hand,” Marcus Flint sported a decidedly smug look. “It might take a while though.”

Pansy did not like that one bit. That Marcus winked at her did not make it better. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter happens parallel to chapter 65 (Amortentia) and chapter 67 (Seperated) of the Phoenix Potion (just to give the readers of TPP context).


	8. Back from Hungary (April, 14-15, 2002)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville returns from Hungary and has to deal with the house elf crisis.

Despite being knackered Neville felt obliged to drop in on Hannah when he returned from his futile attempt to capture Yaxley. But the Leaky was closed. Hannah had put up a sign: _‘Closed until further notice_ ’. Hannah’s flat was empty as well, but there was a note for Neville. At least, this time Hannah had remembered that she could not reach him while he was undercover and under a ‘Do not disturb’ charm.

_ Dear Nev, _

_ Had to help my family. There is some crisis, and my own help ran away. Owl me when you’ve returned. _

_ xxx, Hannah _

Neville decided to put that off until the next day and just get a good night’s sleep. He apparated to his grandmother’s. He probably should look for a flat of his own, or move in with Hannah, but he was reluctant to leave Augusta Longbottom on her own. His grandmother was a formidable witch, but the war and her dogged resistance against Voldemort and his minions had only furthered her irascibility and grumpiness, and Neville knew he was a calming factor in her life.

The wards let him inside, although the cold that crept shortly over his skin told him that his grandmother had strengthened the wards again. He tried to tiptoe in, but as soon as he had passed the threshold to the living room, he was blinded by a sudden flash of _lumos_. 

His grandmother sat on her armchair, a scowl on her face.

“Ah Neville,” she greeted him.

“Why are you not in bed, granny?” Neville asked. “It’s almost midnight.”

“The most irritating thing happened while you were away. Haven’t you read the Prophet?”

“Granny, you always tell everyone and their mother that the Prophet is unreliable. And I’ve just returned from Hungary.”

Neville knew something was seriously amiss, when his grandmother did not ask if he had managed to apprehend Yaxley.

“Where to start?” Augusta Longbottom asked.

She shoved a bunch of Prophet issues in Neville’s general direction. “Here, I don’t want to explain it all.”

“Granny, I’m tired. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“This is a crisis of national proportion. This cannot wait,” his grandmother puffed.

Neville sighed. He reached into his bag and swallowed a pepper-up potion vial and sat down to study the Prophet. He had to read the articles several times and his head swam from the enormity of it all.

He let the paper sink into his lap and tried to put his thoughts in order.

“Let me sum it up. Minister Weasley registered the Granger-Malfoy marriage, and, because of some stupid pact agreed upon ages ago, this started a house elf rebellion, because Malfoy technically was still the Malfoy heir when he married, even though he was already disinherited when the registration happened.” Neville looked at his grandmother. He did not want to address the mess that had immediately followed the house elf rebellion. Luna’s prediction that Hermione, Ron and Harry would sort it out had most definitely not come to pass. Not if the Prophet was to be believed. He let his eyes glide past the headlines that read ‘Amortentia!’ and ‘Malfoy scandal: Contact ban for 900 days’. He refused to form an opinion before he had spoken to either of them.

“The Prophet seems to think that Arthur Weasley should have known this and should have refused to validate the Muggle marriage of Hermione and Malfoy.”

“He **should** have known this. He is a pureblood.”

“Granny, the Weasleys don’t have elves. They haven’t had elves for centuries.” Neville frowned. He wondered if that was connected somehow to Sammael Malfoy’s pact. 

“And Hermione couldn’t have known this either.” Malfoy could have known, though. Neville balled his fists. 

“I wrote her a very stern letter, telling her that she should divorce that scum sooner rather than later. Amortentia is a vile potion. To think that that squib practically forced her. And if she divorces him and the minister registers the divorce, the house elves will be back to behaving normally.” 

Neville tried to relax his hands and worked at his collar that suddenly felt very tight. “Granny, you do realise that this is no incentive for Hermione.” 

“Why? She’s muggleborn. She just doesn’t know what is right and needs someone to tell her.”

“Hermione has fought for the liberation of house elves since our third year.” Neville himself had even bought one of her S.P.E.W stickers, if only to do her a favour. He had never dared to actually put it on though. He had been such a messed up utter coward until fifth year and DA.

“Where are our elves anyway?”

Augusta Longbottom pressed her lips together. It took Neville a moment to understand.

“You changed the wards to keep them out? What for? As a punishment?” He jumped up. “Granny, they have a connection to our home. They can’t survive being kept out in the long run.”

“That should make them return then.” His grandmother sported her most stubborn look.

“You don’t mean that, Granny,” Neville said with a firm voice.

He stretched his legs.

“I’m going to change the wards again and let them in. And tomorrow I’m going to arrange for a contract for them.”

His grandmother opened her mouth in protest.

Neville raised his hands, palms stretched outwards in a gesture of defiance. “Don’t!”

He battled his anger and drew some calming breaths.

She sunk her head and nodded shortly.

He went outside to change the wards. He was still seething with anger, although he could not have said who he was angry with; his stubborn grandmother, or Malfoy for drugging Hermione with _amortentia_. He had known that there was something off with Hermione being suddenly head over heels for Malfoy when she had been happy with Ron. Harry and Ron had really messed up though. Even with evidence for amortentia, Neville thought they were wrong for forcing a contact ban instead of trying to sort this out together with Hermione. He could picture Hermione’s face at being bullied by the full strength of the Wizengamot. She would not have taken that with equanimity. 

The moment Neville changed the wards to let the elves in again, the elf family that served the Longbottoms came in. As far as Neville knew, his grandmother had brought them into her marriage to David Longbottom, so technically they were Selwyn elves.

“Look, granny is already sorry.” Neville told them. She had not said so, but Neville knew that despite all her traditionality, she had a heart.

“First thing in the morning, we’re going to make a contract.”

He had always planned to do that anyway. Harry had already made a contract with Kreacher with Hermione’s help after all. He sighed. Sometimes it just didn’t pay off to avoid confrontations. He should have fought this out with his grandmother after the war, instead of putting it off for a time after her death. Briefly, he wondered why he had forgotten that.

When they entered the house, his grandmother did indeed apologize to the elves. 

***

Just as he had promised, Neville took their elves the very next morning and apparated to Hermione’s flat. He was not the only one who thought of Hermione when it came to house elves though. There was something like a queue on the stairs to Hermione’s flat. Theo Nott and Parkinson obviously had arrived before him. 

“Eh,” Neville said. “Hello Nott! Parkinson!”

Parkinson held the hand of a male elf that almost vanished in her skirt. Neville thought it was nice of her to reassure the obviously shy elf.

“Ah, Longbottom,” Theo Nott greeted him. “Here for the same reason as we are, I see.”

Neville tried to look past them. “Why is there a queue?”

“The auror on watch is doing a search on anyone going in or out.”

“Auror on watch?” Neville asked, alarmed. “Has Hermione been threatened?”

“No, because of the contact ban. Haven’t you heard?” Parkinson asked.

“I only arrived at midnight yesterday. And I still haven’t wrapped my head around this whole situation.” Neville said. “The aurors actually **enforce** the contact ban?” 

That was very bad news. Neville would have to find a way to avoid being scheduled for that.

“Not that that will change the elf situation,” Nott remarked. 

Parkinson scoffed. “Could you tell that to my parents, please?”

“No, thank you!” Nott answered. “I’ve already tried my best with Daphne’s parents. Thank Merlin I’m actually in charge of my own estate.” 

The two Slytherins laughed. 

Blaise Zabini came down the stairs. His head was hidden in the shirt he was in the process of putting on.

When his head popped up, he flashed his teeth at them. “Theo, Pansy, ah and Neville.”

Neville wondered when he had become Neville for Zabini.

Zabini clapped Theo on the shoulder. “I see you took my advice to come here for legal advice. But be prepared. They stripped me to my underwear.”

He grinned. “I had so much fun. Auror Smith less so.” 

He left the house, whistling after winking at Parkinson. 

“Next,” Neville heard Smith’s voice.

Theo Nott ascended the stairs and Neville heard Smith questioning him in a low voice. The elf that was with Parkinson carefully disentangled himself from her skirts and risked a gaze at Neville and his elf family. Neville smiled encouragingly at the elf. The elf immediately hid his face again.

“Any results in Hungary?” Parkinson asked.

Neville shook his head. “False alarm.”

“What a pity. A death eater arrest might have been enough to distract everyone from this whole mess.”

Neville sighed. “How did the whole contact ban come about?” he asked. He had not been able to make sense of it from the Prophet.

Parkinson studied him from under her long lashes. 

“Since Granger’s parents are muggles, Ronald Weasley, as the executor of her will, was the person to plead the administration of the antidote to amortentia on her behalf in front of the Wizengamot. His plea passed. The version of amortentia Draco allegedly brewed cannot be undone with the usual antidote though. That is why Ron Weasley argued for a contact ban. Slughorn estimated that 900 days would be sufficient for the effect to vanish.” Her voice was flat and devoid of any emotion.

“Aha,” Neville said. His thoughts whirled. Ron. Merlin! That was even worse than he had thought.

“Pansy,” Nott called from above. “I’m cleared.” 

Parkinson went up the stairs. Her conversation with Smith was much louder than Nott’s had been, and Neville could hear her answers.

“Smith, we’ve gone through the same training. You know, I know how to circumvent _veritaserum_.” Parkinson’s voice was scathing. “There is no point in giving me any. You just have to take my word as fellow auror.”

“Yes, I visited Draco last week and no, I won’t bring anything from him to Granger.”

“I could dupe you? What? So, you do admit you are gullible.”

“Yes, of course I think Draco was framed and you either planted that _amortentia_ cauldron at his flat, or fell for it like an idiot.”

“I’m here for the elf, Smith. I want a contract for my elf, and I want Granger’s legal advice.”

“No, my parents think this whole situation will be solved within a month at least. And it’s my elf.”

“Do you even know Granger?”

Parkinson came down the steps with clicking heels. Her elf was on her arm. She put the elf on the stairs and smoothed her skirt. Not that it needed smoothing.

“Moppy,” she whispered to the elf. “You have to go on your own. Granger will make a contract for you. And we’ll use that to make my parents sign contracts for the others as well. I promise.”

The elf’s eyes filled with tears. “Miss Pansy.”

Parkinson looked at the elf with a furrowed brow. “I am sorry, you heard Smith. He won’t let me in.”

“He can come with me.” Neville offered.

He stretched out his hand. “I’m Neville Longbottom.”

Moppy looked at him as if he doubted his sanity. “I know who you are,” he said. “You’re the snake-killer.”

Neville felt heat enter his cheeks. 

He took his refuge in introducing his grandmother’s elves. “And these are Tipsy, Dipsy, Mipsy, and Flipsy.”

Parkinson gave a short giggle.

“They are of the same family.”

She put her hand on her mouth and made an excusing gesture.

“Would that be o.k., Moppy? That you go with Longbottom?”

The little creature nodded.

Parkinson stood straight. “Thank you very much, Longbottom. I owe you.”

Neville waved that aside. 

“Moppy is my elf. My father gave him to me.” She sighed. “Last week. He wanted to see if the whole rebellion thing could be circumvented.”

Neville laughed. “The house elf pact was a magically binding contract. There is no easy way around that.”

“Exactly. My parents just don’t want to see that this situation won’t be solved in the blink of an eye.”

***

Neville passed Smith’s scrutiny easily, and he was allowed to enter Hermione’s flat when Nott left. 

Nott had a stack of papers in his hands and a slightly dazed look on his face.

“All my elves will get the same contract,” he said when Neville arched his brow questioningly.

“Merlin. Granger is a menace. She can stop a howler in under three seconds. I counted.”

“Howlers?”

“You’ll see.” Nott bent forward as if to let Neville in on a secret. “Best not mention _amortentia_. Seems to be a touchy subject.”

When Neville entered, he suddenly had a woman in his arms hugging him fiercely. He spat out some of her blond hair. “Luna?”

“Oh, Neville, I’m so glad you are back. This is all so dreadful. Hermione and I have been fighting howlers for ten days straight and it’s so nice to see a friendly face.”

“I am here for the elves,” Neville said.

“Of course, you are. But still, Hermione will be so happy.” Luna dabbed her face with a handkerchief. “I told Ron and Harry that they are mistaken.”

She shook her head. “I fear you were right though. This will not be sorted out easily.”

Neville swallowed. The more he learned about the whole _amortentia_ and contact ban business, the more uneasy he became. His friends at odds with each other. His worst nightmare. He really did not want a repetition of third year, when Ron and Harry had had a big fight with Hermione, or fourth year, when Ron had not talked to Harry, or sixth year, when Hermione had not talked to Ron. Why was there always trouble around these three?

“ _Amortentia_ cannot be involved,” Luna whispered. “Limpiepinkies are a sure sign the love is real.”

“Are you sure?” Neville whispered back.

Luna gave him a scathing look.

Neville squirmed. 

“It’s just that I can easily believe Malfoy had a secret crush on Hermione. I saw his sketches after all, but Hermione never liked him….” His voice trailed off under Luna’s big and trusting eyes.

“He saved her, Neville. At the manor.”

Neville remembered the warm and sheltered feeling of the scutum again. “I know. That explains so much.”

“And she’s pregnant,” Luna added.

“What?” Neville could hardly believe it, but Luna nodded. She was serious.

That complicated things enormously. And it made the divorce half of the pureblood families wanted rather unlikely. Neville did not even try to sort his feelings out. He just would have to observe Hermione and come to his own conclusions. There was still time to expose Draco Malfoy and make him pay after he had made his mind up about what exactly the Slytherin had done. 

Neville let himself be guided to Hermione by Luna.

For the next half hour or so, they talked about the contracts for the Longbottom elves and Moppy was sent away with a contract of his own, that would be valid as soon as Parkinson signed it. Neville paid Hermione for that contract as well as his own. There would be plenty of opportunities to get the money back.

Hermione’s mind was as sharp as ever. That certainly did not fit the _amortentia_ theory, but on the other hand, Hermione would still be able to outwit Neville even with an _amortentia_ -addled brain. He remembered an important lesson by Shacklebolt himself, who had told them that patience was the most important virtue for an auror. He would just wait. Wait and hope that there was a solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that Neville had it occasionally tough, growing up with his grandmother. She certainly was a formidable witch with her heart in the right place in principle, but she expected Neville to be like his father - which he was not.


	9. A Favour (November, 29 - December 1, 2002)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna asks Neville for a favour and he does his best not to violate any laws or regulations.

Neville was chatting with Seamus and Dean at the Leaky when Luna approached him.

“Could you do me a favour, Neville?” Luna whispered in a low voice, her blue eyes trusting.

Neville smiled at his friend. “Yes, of course.”

“I am aware you avoid guarding Hermione, but could you do it maybe just this once?”

Neville frowned. “You know I cannot –“

Luna laid her hand on his arm in a calming manner. “No worries. You know I won’t do anything illegal. And it might not be necessary anyway.”

Neville squirmed in his seat. Luna and he tried to navigate the very deep waters between Hermione on one side and Ron and Harry on the other. So far, they had managed not to have a falling out with anyone, but it was exhausting. Neville knew that Luna had convinced her father to support Hermione’s latest appeal to the Wizengamot. Hermione wanted Malfoy to be present at the birth of their child.

Luna beamed at him. “I’ll send you a _patronus_.”

Neville nodded, not entirely happy. He thought he had an inkling about what Luna wanted him to do. He supposed his help would not be needed if Hermione were successful in her appeal. Hannah, who brought them new pints of beer, looked at Luna’s retreating form.

“What did she want?”

“She just wants me to be alert in case her father needs help with some stuff. You know Luna is a bit worried about his health.” He tried not to avert his eyes.

Hannah shot him a strange look but did not question him further. He was not in the habit of lying to Hannah, but, if Neville were correct about Luna’s plan, Hannah would not approve. Discussing Hermione’s appeal had resulted in their nastiest fight by far to date. Hannah, who thought Malfoy should be in Azkaban anyway, had firmly stated her opinion that the appeal should be denied. Neville had been arguing that a man had a right to see his child.

But it was one thing to discuss what the Wizengamot might decide and something else entirely to go against the law. The Wizengamot was not the Carrows after all and one questionable decision did not mean they were corrupt. And apparently, Neville and his friends were not even in agreement about what was questionable. Sometimes, Neville wished the damn question of what Malfoy did were as easy to decide as when he had gone against the Carrows. He had decided for himself that the prolonged exposure to the _scutum_ that Malfoy had cast on Hermione had somehow caused her to fall in love with him. Unfortunate. Still, Malfoy had done it to save Hermione and not to make her fall in love against her will. How that lined up with the _amortentia_ cauldron found at Malfoy’s flat was one of the questions Hannah repeatedly asked and one Neville still had no answer to.

When he read in the late evening Prophet the next day that Hermione had been denied, his heart sank, and he felt for her. The baby was due in the next few days and when he had seen Hermione ten days ago, she had been grumpy, short-tempered and had already looked like she would drop the baby any time.

It was a lucky coincidence that he was in the garden when Luna’s _patronus_ approached him. The silvery hare looked at him expectantly and it would only deliver his message after Neville bent down.

Luna’s voice was so hushed that Neville doubted anyone could have heard it, even if someone had been with him in the garden. The hare gave him an address that sounded like a hospital and told him to relieve Smith of his post outside. Neville sighed. Smith was not his favourite colleague and the man knew it. He’d never believe that Neville would want to do him a favour.

Neville used a portkey to arrive. He used a disillusionment charm to first check out how things stood. There was a bench in front of the hospital and Smith sat on it, a middle-aged man Neville recognized as Hermione’s father at his side. Neville had to suppress a chuckle. It looked as if Wendell Wilkins was actually guarding Smith and not the other way round. He went around the corner, dropped the disillusionment and made his way slowly towards Smith as if he were very reluctant.

“Hello,” Neville greeted him.

Smith nodded in return, a scowl on his face. “Longbottom.”

Neville made himself smile at Smith. Not too friendly, or Smith would question his motives. “I was told to relieve you a bit early, so that you have the evening off.”

Smith’s face lit up. “Oh, that’s awfully nice of Baxter.”

Neville moved his head in what he hoped would look like a nod.

“Figured births take their time,” he deliberately spoke a bit rushed. That way it could have been anyone who did the figuring, including Neville himself.

He was relieved Baxter was the person in charge of the schedule. Neville could talk with him and Baxter, Hufflepuff that he was, would even believe that Neville had wanted to do Smith a favour. Most importantly he would not ask too many questions.

Smith disappeared.

Hermione’s father studied him. “I haven’t seen you around yet.”

“I’m Neville Longbottom.”

“I’ve heard about you. You’re a friend of Hermione’s.” He reached out and shook hands. “I’m Wendell Wilkins. Just call me Wendell.”

Neville nodded at the older man and did not correct him. Hermione’s parents had not recovered all their memories and their new names stuck the hardest. At some point they had given up on ever reclaiming their old names again, even if they knew they had been the Grangers.

“How is it going?” Neville asked.

“Last time my wife came out, she was confident it wouldn’t take that much longer. Hermione’s holding up well.”

Neville sat on the bench, cast a warming charm around them and fished a book out of his bag. He was not an avid reader, but with a book in hand he could better pretend not to notice anything going on around him. He settled in a stance that hopefully would scream ‘completely caught up in his book’.

He didn’t look up when he heard footsteps, even though the book was not very exciting.

He risked a very short glance, when he heard the voice was female. Hermione’s mother was beaming, waving a muggle photo at her husband. Wendell held a little black muggle device to his ears and was talking into it.

“You can come,” Wendell said. “We have a photo. It’s a girl. A perfect girl.”

Neville hastily bent his head over his book again and stayed like that. The letters did a merry dance before his burning eyes, because he stared at the pages so hard. If someone would ask him if he had spotted Malfoy, he could answer in good conscience that he had not seen him.

He hoped that nobody would ask if he had heard him. Even though they spoke very lowly Neville could clearly identify Malfoy’s voice.

“Here, son, everything went fine. Rina is a healthy little girl,” he heard Wendell say. “This is a reason for joy. Now, now. Take this.”

Neville thought he heard a suppressed sob and still didn’t look up.

The next thing he heard was Luna, calling a greeting to Wendell. Neville chanced a look over the rim of his book, avoiding looking at the place on his left side, where he had heard Malfoy’s voice. Luna pushed a baby carriage, but she was alone. Of course, he should have known that Luna would not make him violate his auror duties. Hastily, he buried his nose in the book again.

“This is Rina, my goddaughter, isn’t she perfect?” he heard Luna coo. “Hermione has done a wonderful job. She’s still resting and I volunteered to show Rina the world – or the world to Rina.”

He heard whispered excitement and invocations of Merlin that he could hardly attribute to Wendell or Monica.

Apparently, it was a wonder that the baby had five fingers and perfect small fingernails and hair and a nose, and that she had all that although she was just a small bundle. That went on for some time and Neville had to suppress a smile. Malfoy certainly was an enthusiastic father.

Hermione would soon come out though.

Neville harrumphed. When the excited voices did not stop, he faked loud coughing.

“You’ll see Rina again, as often as I can arrange it.” Luna’s voice was soft-spoken but clear.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you adequately.” Malfoy’s voice sounded clogged up.

“Don’t make a fuss. Just remember to pull through it all for Hermione’s sake.”

Neville did not hear Malfoy’s answer.

He only looked up from his book when Luna touched his arm. Malfoy was gone.

“Neville, won’t you have a look at the baby?” Her smile was wide and happy. “This is a day of joy.”

Neville smiled back at her and stood up. Luna reached up and hugged him.

“That was perfectly done, Nev,” she whispered.

Neville hugged her back. He was just glad that he had somehow managed to do Luna her favour and successfully avoided having to report her for violating the contact ban. And he was glad that Malfoy had seen his daughter. It could not be wrong to let a father see his baby.

Neville bent over the baby carriage. Rina had her eyes closed and she had indeed tiny little fingers with tiny little nails.

He laughed out loud when he saw her hair. There was a halo of silver blond hair around her head. There could be no doubt whatsoever that Draco Malfoy was the father of this tiny bundle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was undecided if I should write something we saw already in The Phoenix Potion from a different PoV - apart from the Blaise - Luna wedding that will be very important for the plot of this fic.  
> @marydri persuaded me to do it and read the chapter in advance!
> 
> So, have some nice Neville and some angles you didn't see in TPP, chapter 76.


	10. An unlikely sleuthing duo (March 2003)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy are sent on a mission together. It does not go well.

Harry was called into the head auror’s office on Kingsley’s last day as Head Auror. After the house elves’ crisis had dragged on for almost a year, Harry’s soon-to-be father-in-law, Arthur Weasley, had had to resign as minister and Kingsley Shacklebolt had decided to run for office.

Kingsley bade Harry to come in and Harry took a seat. Kingsley stood at the window and looked outside.

Just when Harry was about to become restless and put his hands in his pockets to fiddle with their contents, Kingsley abruptly turned and took a seat himself. Harry almost fidgeted under his scrutinizing gaze.

“How do you feel about me becoming minister, Harry?” he asked.

Harry hesitated.

“Please, feel free to give me your honest opinion.”

Harry adjusted his glasses. “As a pureblood and Order of the Phoenix member you are a good compromise candidate.”

Kingsley arched an eyebrow at him.

Harry sighed. “Unlike Arthur, you and your family suffered through the house elf rebellion just like other pureblood families, even though you managed to resolve it the fastest.”

There were still families who had not sorted out their elves, waiting for a divorce of the forcefully separated Granger-Malfoy couple. Technically, the honour of sorting their elves the fastest should go to Neville, who had only needed one day, but Kingsley had had a head start, because when the house elf rebellion had started, Neville had been away in Hungary on a secret mission. Kingsley had been on leave from the department only for something close to a fortnight. Harry sometimes wondered whether things would have gone differently, if it had not been Dawlish who had been in charge when the Malfoy _amortentia_ cauldron bomb had gone off.

His hand in his pockets chanced upon a glass vial. He retracted his fingers as if burned. He would have to come up with a good hiding place for this.

Kingsley kept silent for a moment and after a while Harry felt obliged to break the silence.

“I do not blame you for taking the opportunity. I think you will be a good minister.”

Kingsley nodded. “I won’t pretend that I do not want the job.”

Kingsley sighed. “Nothing ever works exactly the way you want. There is an important lesson there, Harry.”

The head auror’s eyes bore into his.

“That begs the question of who I am going to suggest as my replacement to the Wizengamot.”

“You want my opinion on that?” Harry asked.

Kingsley nodded.

“There is a lack of truly seasoned members due to the war,” Harry said. “If you adhere to seniority rules, it should be Dawlish, and possibly Baxter after him.”

He shrugged.

“Your honest opinion, Harry.” Kingsley insisted.

“Dawlish is meticulous –too meticulous. Although boring shouldn’t be a hindrance to the job, I think his roundabout way of approaching problems would lower our success rates. Baxter is an analyst. He is not an organisational talent either, and…” Harry hesitated.

“And?”

“He’s too nice.”

“So, both options are not ideal. I agree with you on that. Any other options?”

Harry fiddled with his glasses and began to study his nails.

“You do know you give yourself away when you do that, don’t you?” Kingsley’s gaze was still focussed on Harry.

Harry felt heat rising to his head.

“To lead a department, you have to know not only about the flaws and strengths of your people, but also what they think about themselves.”

“So, I ask you again. Are there other options?”

Harry harrumphed. “There is me.”

“Ah.” Kingsley smiled.

“Let’s talk about you, Harry, then. Anything that would speak against you?”

“I am too young. I would be the youngest head auror ever.”

Kingsley nodded.

“Since I am the future son-in-law of Arthur Weasley, people might think that you made a deal with Arthur.”

“Anything else? These are hindering circumstances not your flaws.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I would be dedicated to this job. And I would be better than either Dawlish or Baxter.”

There was a flicker in Kingsley’s eyes. Acknowledgement? Disappointment? Harry could not have said.

“Nobody could question your competence in defeating dark wizards.” Kingsley studied him. “And yet – if things had gone as I wanted them to go I would have had at least five more years to clean up this department. Then I would have run for minister and would have suggested you as my successor.”

Harry was disappointed, if only a little bit. He could not really have expected to succeed Kingsley at the age of 22. He schooled his features.

“None of my choices are ideal.” Kingsley’s eyes had wandered to the window.

“I’m going to follow seniority and suggest Dawlish as the new head auror. I will make an informal agreement with him though. He will be evaluated after three years and, after three years, you and I will have this conversation again.”

Harry smiled.

Kingsley raised his hand in a cautionary gesture. “A conversation with an open end.”

“You should expect Dawlish not to act too friendly towards you, even though you’re our saviour and all that. Making the deal with Dawlish showed him that he was not my first choice, and even if he thinks in a roundabout way, he’ll still come to the right conclusions.”

***

Harry was still inwardly seething at Dawlish. He had braced himself for some unsavoury tasks after his conversation with Kingsley, but the situation he had found himself in at the moment really topped everything. Dawlish had partnered him with Parkinson of all people. Parkinson!

The only consolation was that Parkinson was about as pleased as Harry about this arrangement. They had both drunk Polyjuice potion and were supposed to flush out the potion ingredient smugglers. Even with the face of a middle aged not too pretty woman, Parkinson managed to sport that pureblood haughtiness that riled Harry up inwardly.

Maybe it would have gone well, if the stake out in the café, where they waited for the suspect to make one of his transactions, would not have taken so long.

Harry was getting impatient. “We should have just arrested Smoley when we found the billywig sting slime in the broom’s wax equipment.”

Parkinson rolled her eyes. “That was evidence for the smuggling, not that Smoley was to blame.”

“He is the assistant in Bowler’s quidditch supply firm. We know him to be guilty.”

Her eyes flashed. “We suspect him to be guilty. We don’t know yet. We will know when we observe him doing the exchange. It could be Bowler himself.”

“Bowler spends his time watching quidditch games. He leaves everything to Smoley.”

She tapped her wand to her lips. “Evidence, Potter. The key word is evidence. Evidence that actually can be tied to the suspect.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She pressed her lips together.

“Spit it out,” Harry told her. “We might as well talk about the elephant in the room.”

“Circumstantial evidence should not be enough to prove guilt. And we as aurors should try to make cases watertight. People are sentenced on our word.”

“Malfoy was not sentenced as guilty. The contact ban is an administrative precaution to protect Hermione from the effect of _amortentia_.” The differentiation was important. _Amortentia_ was not illegal after all.

Parkinson bent over the table to hiss at him. “You’re such a hypocrite, Potter. Look into my eyes and tell me that a 900-day contact ban to separate a married couple with a baby is not a sentence.”

“There was no other way to ensure that the effect of Malfoy’s _amortentia_ would dissipate. I am very aware that it is not ideal.” That was an understatement. Hermione had still not backed down or come to her senses. The muggle-brewed variant of _amortentia_ really was very strong.

“As if! Draco would never have brewed _amortentia_.”

“That is ridiculous, Parkinson.” Harry had bent over the table and began to hiss himself. “The cauldron was found at his flat.”

He punctuated his statement with his spoon. “He is the only suspect.”

Parkinson scoffed. “With the house elf rebellion and all that. there were 28 families who had a bloody motive to plant the cauldron at his flat. Just so that they could separate Granger and Draco.”

“27,” Harry said. “The Weasleys have and had no elves.”

Parkinson grunted. “Don’t you dare tell me that the Weasleys of all people had no motive to throw suspicion on Draco.”

Harry could feel the heat in his cheeks. “The Weasleys would never. Ron would never…”

“What, Ron Weasley would never be a tiny bit sloppy in his auror work? The only reason he is not a complete failure is because you cover up for him.”

Harry fumed and crumpled up his napkin. He made a show of drawing deep breaths. He would show Parkinson that he could be mature about this.

“The _amortentia_ brewed muggle style needed to be brewed for almost a year. At the time the potion was started nobody knew where Malfoy was yet, or that he even was alive! Malfoy is the only suspect with opportunity **and** motive **and** the ability to brew the potion. Really, Parkinson, you should have learned that in training.”

“Only, your motive falls like a house of cards, if you let yourself just assume for a moment that Granger just returns Draco’s love. Even you must admit that the evidence points that way. How could Draco even have applied the potion while he was under the eyes of the whole department? How could he have started brewing that potion at a time when he still had no idea who he was?”

She tore at her own napkin. “And don’t tell me he applied it after his trial. Granger married him, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry did not like her sarcastic tone at all.

“The elf,” he said. “He made the elf do it.”

“Prudy is a free elf.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Dobby would have done anything for me and he was free and your own elf, what’s his name? I saw him bring you stuff to the department.”

“Moppy is free. He has a contract. And my mother sent him, because my parents haven’t yet sorted out any of their own elves.”

Harry flashed his teeth at her. “Oh. Your parents are one of those… And Moppy never does you any favours? Is he not the elf that cared for you when you were a child?”

Parkinson looked embarrassed for a short moment, but then she huffed. “All I am saying is that you should not have fixated on the first suspect. You should have tried to find additional evidence. That is something Shacklebolt actually taught us in training.”

“Sometimes you have to act fast. Not that you would know. You barely have any field experience.”

“And whose fault is that?” Parkinson snapped.

Harry frowned at her. “Entirely your own. You and your choice of friends. I mean Malfoy needs all the friends he can get, I suppose. It’s not as if he has many.”

Parkinson stood, her face dark, threw her napkin on the table and jumped when the waitress harrumphed behind her.

“Mr Johnson wants to remind you of the house rules,” the waitress said. If Harry wore his own face, she probably would not have dared to reprimand them.

“The house rules?” Parkinson asked.

The waitress pointed at the small script at the end of the café’s menu card.

Harry studied the card.

_‘We kindly ask our guests to refrain from discussing the Malfoy case or the House elf rebellion._

Harry let the card fall back on the table.

Parkinson let herself fall into her chair with an awkward smile.

“I am sorry,” she said, her eyes sliding past the waitress in her embarrassment. Harry nodded satisfied.

“Shit,” she suddenly said and jumped up again.

Harry turned and saw Smoley about to leave the café. Distracted as they were by their discussion they must have missed him.

Harry jumped as well, drew his wand in a smooth motion, ignored Parkinson’s cry of ‘Don’t’ and threw a quick _incarcerus_ at the man.

“Halt,” he called. “DMLE.”

He went towards the suspect in quick strides, took his wand and began to search him, while Smoley protested. Parkinson was nowhere in sight, a fact Harry at first didn’t notice, because he was used to being the first to act.

The search didn’t produce anything and Harry cursed. They would have to make do with the circumstantial evidence of the broom’s wax. If he hadn’t been drawn into a fight with Parkinson...

“I must insist that you accompany me to the department for questioning,” Harry told Smoley.

Parkinson somehow materialised at his side.

Harry frowned at her. “Where have you been?”

“Collecting evidence,” she answered. In her hand was a bundle of billywig sting slime. “I found this in the bag that Smoley just left at the table.”

“And collecting other witnesses or maybe suspects.” She pointed at the man who sat at the back of the café, petrified.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “That was lucky. They almost got away.”

“You know, Potter. I think that these rules of the house are not such a bad idea. Just in case we ever get sent together on a mission again.”

“On that we can agree,” Harry nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of love to @marydri for reading. 
> 
> This chapter is the beginning of a highly successful auror duo. They just don't know it yet. I had so much fun writing Harry in this chapter. He is a little bit cocky, I know. But he'll grow.


	11. Hunch and Evidence (June 2003)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna plans a campaign against the wrackspurts that plague Ron. Harry and Pansy almost catch Yaxley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the temptation to write one chapter from Luna's perspective.

There were no wrackspurts at Grimmauld and Luna thought that this was an excellent precondition for their plan to work. Ginny had made cake and biscuits and Luna, Neville, Hannah and Ron were sitting in the drawing room and were having fun.

Neville and Ron were talking about the bust they had done at a Quidditch supply shop, where potion ingredients were being smuggled a few months ago –Ron’s last mission at the behalf of the department before he had taken a break. Neville was, as usual, careful not to give any names, but even without Ron slipping, Luna would have known that the shop in question was Bowler’s.

“We confiscated everything in the whole storeroom.” Neville told them. “For some reason there was a whole cupboard of muggle colours. For painting.”

“Saunders tried to open the cupboard and, in his eagerness to get evidence for the bowtruckle eggs he suspected to be there, he unhinged the hook that held the doors of the cupboard.” Ron continued the tale. He stood to demonstrate Saunders mishap.

“And all the cans with paint came down in an avalanche and a pot of white paint landed on Saunders.”

“Poor Saunders. He accidentally swallowed some of the paint.”

“I feel bad for laughing,” Ron bit his lip. “Especially since it turned out that the paint was poisonous, and we had to bring Saunders to St Mungo’s. But you should have seen his face when the door of the cupboard came loose!”

“Saunders got sick right at Smith’s feet,” Neville snickered. “And Smith’s face was even better than Saunders’.”

“You could think Smith was jinxed with a puke attracting spell.” Ron chuckled. “Remember the time we removed those drunkards from the Leaky? They couldn’t have hit Smith better if they had aimed at him.”

Luna almost choked. Ron could not possibly have known that Smith had been Hermione’s favourite target for spewing in the early days of her pregnancy with Rina. Luna suspected that Hermione had indeed jinxed Smith. Her friend could be petty like that.

Neville crooked his digits together. “I probably shouldn’t laugh about his mishap. But Smith is not my favourite colleague.”

“Hear, hear,” Ginny said.

Ron grinned. “That should tell you everything you need to know about Smith. Even Neville can’t stand the pompous idiot.”

They all laughed.

“The bust could have gone better,” Neville admitted.

“But it was the most fun I’d had at the department for ages,” Ron said.

Luna’s eyes met Ginny’s. Ron really should extend his break.

Luna told them about her latest journey with her father to Wales where they had wandered in Snowdonia to search for the great eagles of Eryri –a magical beast whose feathers could be used for a levitating potion for bludgers.

Luna had taken over research on a voluntary basis for the Department of Magical Creatures, because the understaffed department was still somewhat stretched thin with the house elves cases. She had observed and counted the population and would push for a protective law for the creatures.

At the last moment, when Ginny’s foot met hers and when Neville shot her a warning look, she left out that Hermione had helped her with the petition she had handed in to the Wizengamot. It was such a nuisance that she had to be careful not to mention Hermione or Draco with her Gryffindor friends.

“As it happened, my father and I met Blaise in Caernarfon just before we set out and he was kind enough to accompany us. He was visiting Pansy’s parents in Caernarfonshire and he always invited us for tea or dinner whenever my father and I came back from hiking.

Luna smiled when she remembered the nice evenings.

“Anyway, one evening we met Huw Sanderson, you know, the manager of the ‘Brecon Barciaid’, the Welsh Quidditch team from the South.”

“What a funny coincidence.” Ginny said. That was her cue after all.

“Shouldn’t it be Brecon Barciaids,” Hannah asked.

“It’s a Welsh word. Barciaid is already plural.” For a moment Luna was distracted and began to talk about her attempts to learn a little Welsh, so that the locals would not be so distrusting.

Ron stood and mumbled something about a bathroom break. Neville nudged Luna’s foot and it took Luna a moment to remember why she had begun her tale on her journey to Wales in the first place. Fuzzybugs must have distracted her.

Luna interrupted her explanations on Welsh grammar. “Anyway, Huw told us all about his difficulties in finding a decent keeper.”

Ron stopped in his tracks.

“A keeper? That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Listening to Huw you would think that there is absolutely no one available. You wouldn’t believe how many wrackspurts dad and I had to drive off!”

“You know, you could apply,” Neville turned to Ron. Unlike Luna, he had remembered his cue. “You are unbeatable when you play Quidditch at the department.”

Ron’s face looked puzzled and slightly nonplussed. Maybe fuzzybugs had jumped from Luna to him.

“That’s just a hobby.” He mumbled.

Ginny shrugged. “It might be worth a try, Ron.”

“You probably would like it more than the joke shop,” Hannah put in.

Luna turned to look at her, surprised. Had Neville filled her in? Neville had a sheepish look. He had not told Hannah then.

Ron left the room, his face in a frown, but fortunately there were still no wrackspurts in sight. Hopefully, Ron might think about the suggestion.

Ginny prompted Neville to a short handclap.

Hannah’s eyes widened. “You want him to permanently leave the department.”

She scowled. “Nev, you know, you could have told me.”

She shook her head, a small smile on her face. “Honestly, you three.”

“I just want Ron to get rid of the constant company of wrackspurts,” Luna confided to Hannah. “It’s not good for him.”

“That is an understatement,” Ginny murmured.

The floo roared to life and Harry stepped through, supporting a very pale Pansy Parkinson, who looked as if she was ready to faint. Harry brought a wave of wrackspurts with him that immediately made Luna anxious.

“Chocolate!” Harry barked.

Neville had jumped up, an alarmed look on his face. “What happened?”

“Quite a lot,” Harry’s face was grim. He led Pansy to the sofa. “Dementors, among other things.”

Luna took Pansy’s trembling hand in hers and Ginny accioed chocolate from the kitchen.

“Damn you, Parkinson,” Harry was agitated and angry. Wrackspurts danced around his head. “You and your evidence, evidence, evidence. Did no one ever tell you that the auror’s safety is the first priority?”

Pansy bit into the bar of chocolate Neville held out for her. Hannah observed the scene with a puzzled face. Luna could feel Pansy’s hand still trembling, but her eyes flashed.

“You told me there was no one in that cellar. Without the evidence we might as well forget about getting hold of Yaxley.”

“I told you, I hadn’t **noticed** anyone. There’s a difference. We can add expert disillusionment charm on Yaxley’s file.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Remind me to weigh your words the next time we are on a mission.”

With the chocolate, her voice had regained strength.

“At least there will be a next mission for you.” Harry snapped.

For a moment, Pansy looked the picture of contriteness, verilites swarming around her.

“What the hell happened?” Neville wanted to know.

“We were closer on Yaxley’s heels than anticipated and we actually chanced upon the man while he was covering his tracks,” Harry explained. “He tried to _avada_ Parkinson.”

“What?”

“I used a _scutum_ to save her, but he fled and set dementors on us. I was exhausted and Parkinson can’t conjure a corporeal _patronus_.”

Ginny scowled at her fiancé. The wrackspurts had entered the space around her head as well. “You had a run-in with Yaxley?”

“Why are you not at the department getting reinforcements?” Neville asked.

“Yes, why are we not at the department? How come you brought me here?” Pansy chimed in.

“I happen to know that we are out of chocolate at the department.” Harry’s voice sounded funny.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. “You have a hunch. You think someone is in league with Yaxley.”

Harry nodded.

She cursed. “I suspect it is useless to ask if you have any evidence.”

Harry pursed his lips, an angry scowl on his face. The wrackspurts had doubled in the short time he had been at home.

“Merlin, Harry, who do you suspect?” Neville asked.

“As Parkinson reminds me all the time, I shouldn’t call anyone out before I have evidence.”

Ron returned from the bathroom and tried to take in the situation.

“Ah, it’s our new dream team,” he said. “Hunch and evidence.”

Luna had to laugh, and Hannah let out a giggle as well. Ron just had a knack for putting something in a nutshell.

Pansy did not laugh. She stood up, swaying a little, but brushed off Neville’s support.

“I don’t want to further impose upon your hospitality.”

She went to the floo.

“May I?” she asked and put her hand in the floo powder jar after Ginny nodded.

“Thanks for the chocolate. And for saving my life, Potter. As a thank-you, I’ll write the report.”

“You should work on your _patronus_ ,” Harry growled, as Pansy threw the powder in the fireplace.

“Will do both,” Pansy said and vanished in the green flames, after she had shouted her destination –the auror department.

Harry was still upset and the wrackspurts dissipated only very slowly, after Pansy had left. “Hunch and evidence, Ron? Really? You know I’d rather work with you.”

Ron shrugged. “That’s nice of you, Harry, but my mind is made up.”

Ginny grinned. “I rather like hunch and evidence.”

“So, the _scutum_ does work against the killing spell. That’s good to know.” Neville mused.

“We can safely assume Yaxley wanted to kill Parkinson.” Harry answered. “But she couldn’t cast a spell herself under the _scutum_ and I was exhausted afterwards. It’s a powerful protection. But it surely has repercussions.”

“Maybe more than one,” Neville sounded worried. Harry looked questioningly at him, but Neville did not elaborate.

Luna shook her head at Neville. Apparently, he still had not let go of the idea that Hermione had fallen for Draco due to prolonged exposure to the most potent shielding charm of all.

She did refrain from telling them all about limpiepinkies, the proof that Hermione and Draco’s love was true. They did not listen the first time and they would not listen know.

Harry’s mission today had been a failure, but Luna and Neville’s plan would work out. Luna would bet the Eryri eagle feathers she had found in Wales that Ron would contact Huw Sanderson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to @marydri. It's so nice to have you as an editor. :hearts:


	12. Tea with the Selwyns (November 26, 2003)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Selwyns complain at the auror department that their muggle neighbours pester them. Neville is sent and asks Pansy for back-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to @marydri as usual!

“I would appreciate it if you would come with me, Parkinson,” Neville told his colleague. “Dawlish is sending me to **the** Victoria Selwyn.”

Parkinson looked up from her desk.

“What’s up at the Selwyns,” she asked.

“The lady of the house is complaining about her muggle neighbours. It can’t be anything serious, but I’m sure she’ll respond better to a lady. A pureblooded lady.”

Neville had known Victoria Selwyn since he was a little boy and he had never managed to outgrow his awe for the formidable witch. Victoria Selwyn could put his granny to shame; and that was saying something.

“And I don’t have that much time. Hermione asked me to drop by and bring her some groceries,” he added.

“I thought she had recovered from the Dragon Pox,” Parkinson said.

“Healer Jameson has declared her not to be contagious anymore, but she is still as green in the face as a meadow in summer. And some of the muggles in her building almost abducted her to a muggle hospital,” Neville said. “She only managed to divert them by telling them that it was make-up for a fantasy con.”

Parkinson made a sound that could mean anything.

“I’m reasonably certain, that fantasy con was the word she used. Don’t ask me what that is. Anyway, she decided it would be better if I continue to bring her food.”

Parkinson made a grab for her handbag. “Let’s go then.”

They apparated in the Oxfordshire village where the –according to pureblood standards– humble Selwyn villa was situated.

An elf in livery opened the door and they were admitted to a rather grand salon that had seen better days. Victoria Selwyn sat upright. She introduced a shy woman of about twenty years as her granddaughter Marigold. Other Selwyns were not in sight. Neville had never seen Marigold in his life. She should have been a few years under him in Hogwarts. She was a pretty girl with golden curls and long lashes, but she studied her shoes all the time.

When Victoria Selwyn studied Neville through her pince-nez, that made her grey eyes even wider, and made a comment about how he had grown, Neville was definitely glad that Parkinson was at his side. Victoria told her elf in a stern voice to set the table for tea.

“Augusta’s boy here will want some cake. Boys always want cake.”

Neville smiled awkwardly and was relieved when Parkinson opened a small paper block and prepared to do business.

Victoria Selwyn proceeded to complain loudly about the muggles that had approached her granddaughter and made ‘unwelcome advances’.

“Are you saying they hit on her?” Parkinson asked.

“Hit on her.” Victoria Selwyn sent an icy glare in her direction. “What kind of language is this?”

Parkinson studied the granddaughter Marigold.

“I usually find that a couple of well-placed stinging hexes make them scatter,” she said with an encouraging smile.

“I did not have my wand.”

Neville could barely hear her.

Parkinson rolled up the sleeve of her right arm. “Look. I have a wand holster attached to my arm.”

Neville had wondered how Parkinson always managed to draw her wand so fast.

Parkinson put her left thumb in the crook of her arm and shoved it downwards across the inner side of her forearm. Her wand appeared in her fingers.

“Look! As long as you have sleeves nobody even sees your wand.”

Marigold squirmed in her seat.

“What do you do in summer?” Neville asked, staring at the holster that sat snuggly around Parkinson’s lower arm. He had a large enough pocket at the side of his trousers, but that holster looked very practical.

“In summer?”

“Yes, you usually wear short-sleeved blouses in summer.” He could feel heat slowly creeping up his head. Victoria Selwyn heated her parlour as if there was a snowstorm outside. Neville’s grandmother was the same.

“I have skirts with a holster.”

Victoria Selwyn made a disapproving noise and Neville decided to drop the subject of Parkinson’s skirts.

“Marigold’s wand is too long for that.” Victoria Selwyn snapped.

“It’s not mine,” Marigold whispered, barely audible. “It was my grandfather’s.”

“What nonsense is that?” Neville exclaimed. The incredulous question just burst out of him.

Victoria Selwyn studied him with a cold glare.

“Young man,” she chided him. “No need to become loud and disrespectful. Augusta will hear about that.”

Neville saw Parkinson’s puzzled look. He took a deep breath.

“I had my father’s wand for years and it simply didn’t fit me. Every wizard and witch is better off with a customized wand.” On this subject, Neville would not back down. “Marigold should have her own wand.”

Marigold's face coloured a deep crimson.

“At the time I should have gotten a wand, Ollivander was closed.” Her voice was barely audible.

Neville saw a burning resentment in Victoria Selwyn’s eyes. Did they not have enough money to buy a wand? And why could he not remember Marigold from Hogwarts? She must have been home schooled.

Parkinson’s eyes glittered. She seemed to understand.

“Well, we’ll check the neighbourhood and try to modify your muggle repelling wards.” Parkinson stood.

She flashed a smile and hinted at a curtsy. “Thank you for the tea.”

Victoria Selwyn mellowed. “I would be very much obliged. I am an old woman and my warding skills have become rusty with the peace, and Marigold hasn’t mastered them yet.”

***

When they walked from the house to the fence, Parkinson addressed him.

“For how long were you using your father’s wand, Longbottom?”

“The wand broke when I fought with Harry at the Department of Mysteries at the end of fifth year. That’s when I got my current wand.”

Parkinson stopped, her skirts swinging. “You used your father’s wand for five years?”

Neville nodded.

“That explains so much.” She shook her head.

“What does it explain?” Neville was puzzled.

“That you were absolute rubbish as a wizard up until 6th year. And that you’ve improved considerably now.”

“I wasn’t absolute rubbish. I was good at herbology and decent at charms.”

Parkinson arched an eyebrow at him. Then she determinedly began walking again.

“It’s thanks to Harry really,” Neville explained. “He was an excellent teacher in our secret DADA lessons in fifth year. And that is why I got an ‘E’ in defence in my OWLs. And that is why I even could proceed to get my NEWTs.”

“Hmm. But why did your grandmother not buy you a new wand when you started at Hogwarts?”

Neville shrugged. “Family tradition, I guess.”

Parkinson scoffed.

“It was not the money.” Neville stated firmly. “Not like here.”

He gestured at the house behind them.

Parkinson had stopped at the fence and began to wave her wand.

“You think, Marigold does not have her own wand because of money?” she asked him.

Neville drew his own wand and began testing the wards on the other side.

“I don’t know why she called the department,” he complained. “The wards are perfectly in place. I guess she just wanted to have a look at me. My grandmother probably bragged about me and she wanted to see me for herself. I hate that.”

“Marigold herself approached the muggles.” Parkinson said. “That is why the wards are perfectly o.k.”

“Why would she do that?”

“To get to know them. She’s a squib, Longbottom, that should be obvious.”

“What?” Neville put his index finger into his collar and tried to ease the chafing at his throat.

Parkinson raised her hands, her wand safely put away again. She touched the index finger of her left hand. “First of all, Marigold is home schooled.”

“Second,” the middle finger went up beside the index finger, “her grandmother makes excuses for her not being advanced enough to do wards.”

“Third,” the ring finger went up in the air. “She’s only got a wand that was handed down.”

She shook her head. “Believe me, Longbottom. Money is not the problem. And Marigold wants out.”

“I would want out of this stuffy old house as well,” she added.

Neville wondered if the Parkinsons’ house was old and stuffy as well. He knew she had a flat of her own.

“So, you suspect Marigold actually wants to get in contact with muggles.”

“It’s her only chance. Leaving for the muggle world or living the shadowy life of a secret squib.”

“What can we do?” Neville felt sorry for the shy young woman. They had passed the fences and were now walking along the street, approaching the apparition point. A middle aged man with dark hair walked a few steps behind them.

“I could alert Hermione to her case. Drop by another time, inconspicuously, and arrange a meeting.” Neville mused, speaking lowly, so that the muggle behind them would not hear. He chastised himself for not casting a _muffliato_ after leaving the grounds of the Selwyns.

He looked at Parkinson, weighing his next words. “Or you could…“

“I doubt any Selwyn would want a connection to the person I know in the muggle world,” Parkinson cut him short. “Even a squib with little options.”

“You can leave her to us,” a voice behind them said.

Neville turned, embarrassed that they had been overheard.

“We take care of our own,” the man with dark hair said.

Parkinson studied him, her forehead in a frown. “You’re a Travers.”

“I used to be. Now I’m Roger Doherty.”

He gave them a bow that was clearly mocking. “Wizards and witches have no idea about the muggle world. You would only make things worse.”

“Who exactly is ‘we’?” Neville wanted to know.

The young man gave them a lop-sided grin. “’We’ are a group of squibs that help others find a place for themselves. We’ve been alerted to Marigold Selwyn for some time.”

“I see.” Neville felt oddly relieved. It would not be his problem. “That is a great comfort. I did not get the feeling that Marigold is very happy.”

Roger Doherty barked a laugh. “What an understatement.”

Neville yanked at his collar again. He probably needed to buy new shirts. He wondered if the constant training and field work had messed with his measurements again.

“Thank you, Mr. Doherty,” Parkinson inclined her head at him.

They apparated back to the department and Parkinson offered to write the report. They agreed that they would just put “ward renewal” into the papers.

When Neville announced his intention to leave to visit Hermione as he had promised, Parkinson began to fidget. She finally asked him to take a letter.

”You do know I can’t forward any letters by–…" He gave a short shake of his head and frowned to indicate who he meant. "...and I’ll have to let the auror on guard see it.“

Parkinson rolled her eyes as if she wanted to tell him how stupid his assumption was.

“I wrote that letter. My parents–“ Her face suddenly changed and she lowered her eyes self-consciously. “My parents are absolute arses about the whole house elf situation. My father tried to bully Granger into making a contract while she had the dragon pox. I just wanted to apologize.”

“But that wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s still embarrassing,” Parkinson bit her lip. “They just don’t get it, that they just have to adapt to the elves getting working contracts. For Merlin’s sake, my mother lets Marcus Flint pay the elves for their work. She thinks that she’ll just have to wait until the situation gets ‘sorted out’”. She indicated the quotation marks with her fingers.

“Sorted out meaning the divorce of Draco and Granger.” She shook her head.

“That is highly unlikely,” Neville whispered. He had not said that aloud to anybody yet and he felt a flush in his cheeks.

“Indeed,” Parkinson agreed. “I know Draco, you know Granger. Neither of them is good at budging, I’d say.”

“And pressure only makes it all the more unlikely,” Neville burst out.

Parkinson laughed.

***

When Neville reached Hermione’s flat with the groceries, she was not in good spirits. Neville found her holding Rina and snivelling into her tea. He was thoroughly alarmed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s so silly.” Hermione blew her nose. “I should be happy for Luna. And Blaise. They helped so much and worked so hard while I was ill, and now they are together.”

“Together?” Neville’s jaw dropped open. “You mean together as in a relationship? Zabini and Luna?”

“Blaise and Luna,” Hermione corrected him. “You’d better get used to it. He is quite determined. And they are very much in love and you’d better not give Blaise a hard time about being a Slytherin and all that. He was absolutely marvellous.”

Neville raised his hand. “If Luna is happy, who am I to contradict her? But why are you crying then?”

“They are so happy,” – Hermione’s eyes filled with tears again – “and I envy them, because I miss Draco so much.”

“And I feel so bad for being such a shitty friend that I can’t be just happy for them.” She snivelled again.

Neville angled for a tissue.

“Why don’t you just cry for a bit? And I promise I won’t tell either of them about your inexcusable bout of envy.” He gave her an encouraging smile. He knew about envy after all. When he looked at Harry and Ginny he always wondered if he could ever be this happy.

Hermione cried for quite a while and Neville gave her one tissue after the other. He produced bubbles with his wand to divert Rina who felt some of her mother’s distress. He even prepared a small meal, although he was not a very good cook.

By the time Hermione had finally calmed down, Neville had completely forgotten about Marigold Selwyn and his intention to ask Hermione for advice on her case. He did remember Parkinson’s letter though, before he left Hermione to call on Hannah at the Leaky.

He only remembered Marigold days later and when he checked on the Selwyns, the young woman was nowhere in sight, and Victoria Selwyn assured Neville that Marigold had left for a visit to family on the continent and that the muggles had not trespassed again. Neville wondered if Roger Doherty had been successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might want to check my new Dramione one-shot (three chapters) called Surprise Soulmates which I wrote for the Valentine fest 'box of chocolates' with beautiful art by hiyas!


	13. Casting a patronus (August 22, 2004)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco, Blaise and Pansy laze away on a hot Summer afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to @marydri as always!

Pansy looked at Blaise’s shining cobra that slithered around them. Even on a bright day like this, the _patronus_ sparkled.

“Luna says it’s the limpiepinkies. You have to concentrate on the limpiepinkies.” Blaise sounded absolutely serious.

Pansy scoffed. “Limpiepinkies, honestly.”

Usually, she would not have said anything against Luna’s invisible little magical beings in Blaise’s hearing, but her attempts at casting a corporeal _patronus_ had left her very frustrated.

She looked to Draco for back up, but he raised his hands.

“I would never deny the existence of limpiepinkies. They convinced Luna that Hermione genuinely loves me.”

“Just accept that they exist. I bet, the moment you overcome your prejudice, you will be able to cast a _patronus_.”

Pansy let her wand slip in the disillusioned holster that she had attached to her pencil skirt. The wand laid smoothly against her thigh, almost invisible.

“We shouldn’t be doing magic anyway.” She scowled at Blaise’s _patronus_. “We are, after all, in the middle of Muggle London.”

“And nobody is out here, because it is too damn hot.”

Blaise let his _patronus_ vanish.

“Less than a week and you’ll be a married man,” Draco laid on his back, his eyes closed lazily. “The snake catches the hare.”

Blaise laughed. “I doubt it. This particular hare will always run as it wants.”

Pansy grinned. Luna’s _patronus_ was a hare, but Luna was an able and formidable witch, even if she believed in very strange beings. And it was pretty obvious that Blaise worshipped the ground she walked on.

“Everything ready for the honeymoon?”

Blaise let himself fall on the grass at Draco’s side. “Yes, hopefully, it will be cooler in Iceland.”

“Holidays,” Draco sighed. “That would be nice.”

“That Winston still running you ragged?” Blaise asked.

“I’ll be so glad when my training will be over in November. Getting the qualification as a cook is really hard.” Draco grimaced. “I’m tired all the time.”

“It makes the time pass faster,” Pansy said. Work also numbed pain. Pansy would know. She took some blades of grass and made a ball.

“One hundred sixty-four days,” Draco said. “Rina will be two years old by then.”

“You’ll make it. And next year, we’ll sit in this park with your wives and Rina and we’ll have a splendid picknick.”

“And who will you bring, Pans?” Blaise asked.

Pansy threw the little ball of grass at his face and hit his nose.

Blaise sneezed.

“You are worse than my mother. I am an independent woman with a job, thank you very much.”

Blaise and Draco’s eyes met shortly. Pansy hated when the boys did that. She liked her job. She did not need a man. Certainly not a man who was with another woman.

“Has your mother been busy setting you up?” Draco asked.

Pansy bit her lip.

“She behaved,” Blaise shrugged.

“Pansy’s mother, you dumbass.” Draco said.

Blaise grinned. “I know. I just wanted to give Pansy some time to gather her wits.”

“My mother is having an affair,” Pansy blurted out.

There was a moment of silence.

“Is it an open secret or a real secret?” Blaise asked, while Draco wanted to know if it was serious.

“I doubt anyone else but me knows, and I shouldn’t even be telling you.”

“You haven’t named anybody yet.” Blaise said.

“Fat chance. I won’t do that,” Pansy scowled.

“So, this is not you gossiping but you’re rather asking for advice?” Draco asked.

Pansy punched him, and not too lightly either. “My gossiping days are over.”

“When I stayed at your parents’ last June, I did not get the impression that they were particularly bad, as couples go–,” Blaise kneaded the little ball of grass she had thrown at him “ –they seemed to live side by side more than with each other, but there were no fights.”

“I guess it all started with the house elves,” Pansy sighed.

“I thought your parents finally had them sorted?” Draco asked.

“Don’t remind me,” Pansy sighed. “It took them so bloody long. Only the Travers needed more time.”

“Well, my mother was so distraught when the house elves rebelled. My father declared it was a householding problem and should therefore be solved by her, but– ”

“Oh, I remember the various detours your mother invented to avoid paying the elves. What was it again? First, she made your father give Moppy to you and when you paid Moppy, she utilised him. And then she wanted you to give them salary from your own earnings as auror, and then she had someone else give them money, just so that she could avoid giving them a contract.” Blaise summed it up.

“Not to forget the time, when my father pestered Granger while she had dragon pox.” Pansy still felt second hand embarrassment when she remembered.

“Your mother should have gotten the bretzel award for turning herself into knots,” Draco remarked. “And it’s Hermione.”

“I’m going to call her Hermione when the contact ban is over and nobody will suspect me of being a go-between for you,” Pansy snapped.

Draco raised his hands. “O.k. Fair point.”

“Anyway, my father refused to help her. I just gave her the advice to go through with it and give a contract to the elves–,“ she drew in her breath.” –and this man came up with all these crack-brained ideas and she always had the feeling he helped.”

She pulled at more innocent blades of dry grass to twirl them into a ball.

“You know, even with marriages that are not arranged, affairs happen,” Blaise told her. “And your parents never really loved each other. That affair doesn’t need to change anything. They can still exist side by side.”

Pansy threw the little grass ball into the air. “I know that.”

“Does your father know?” Draco asked.

Pansy caught the little ball in her hand. “If he knew he probably would say that this is Rufus Parkinson’s problem and not mine.”

“So, you think, if he knew, he’d tolerate it?”

“Not if it became common knowledge.”

“Hence why you’re not telling us the name.” Blaise remarked and grinned.

“I could probably shout the name in the middle of Diagon alley and nobody would believe me.” Draco turned sideways and raised on his elbow, resting his head on his hand. “So, maybe I should do that to divert all gossip.”

Pansy gave a shaky laugh.

“Well, even with the affair, she hasn’t really slowed down her efforts to arrange a marriage for me.”

“Lover boy must be rotten in bed,” Draco remarked.

They laughed.

“Part of me even regrets that she has finally sorted the elves. It had kept her preoccupied. And now Rylla has finished school.” She sighed.

“You can always keep the brunt of your mother’s matchmaking away from Rylla by claiming your privilege as the oldest daughter to get married first.” Draco mused.

“It must be so convenient to have siblings, at least once in a while.”

“It usually is nice. But I envy Rylla and Daisy. I’m doing all the hard work of fighting with my parents.” Pansy drew her wand again and incinerated the little grass ball.

“You should date someone. Get her out of your hair,” Draco suggested.

“Maybe someone from school, slightly older?” Blaise’s eyes danced with amusement. “What about our former Slytherin captain? Marcus Flint?”

Pansy managed not to choke and shot an angry look at Blaise. His face was by far too innocent. Maybe her mother was less careful than she had thought.

“I could never do that. Just picturing his teeth in front of my inner eye makes me nauseous.”

“It is such a pity that Longbottom is spoken for. He would have been perfect.” Draco teased her.

She drew a deep breath. She would not be goaded.

“Your mother would love him.”

Draco would just not stop.

“I mean, Longbottom can even draw the sword of Gryffindor out of thin air.”

“How do you know that?” Blaise asked and Pansy let out a small sound of surprise.

“He showed me.”

“Did he threaten you?” Pansy was taken aback. That did not sound like Neville.

“No, no, he did not act like the other Gryffindors. He did not order me to break up with Hermione now that the elves are sorted.”

Blaise harrumphed. “He just happens to accompany Luna occasionally when she is on one of her walks with her goddaughter Rina.”

“Ah,” Pansy understood. “You ran into them, purely by accident, obviously.”

“Entirely by accident.” Draco stated firmly and winked.

“So, Longbottom protects Luna from getting into trouble with the department.”

Draco arched an eyebrow at her. “She doesn’t do anything forbidden.”

“I know that, Draco.” She rolled her eyes.

“That still does not answer the question how he pulls a sword out of thin air.”

“Apparently, every Gryffindor who used the sword can do it.” Blaise laughed. “You should have seen Harry’s face when Neville showed him. It was priceless.”

“Oh, you saw that?”

“Oh yes,” Blaise grinned.

“And then Harry had to try it for himself of course. And then you should have seen–“ he stopped himself.

“– the other Gryffindors.” He finished somewhat lamely, as if he had forgotten his pun.

Draco let himself fall backwards again.

“Blaise, I know the Weasel is part of Luna’s bunch.” He chuckled.

“He probably was torn between admiring Harry and being jealous. It’s his constant state of mind.” Pansy remarked.

“That was rather mean, Pans, but mostly true nonetheless.” Blaise laughed. “Just don’t tell that to his face next week.”

“I will behave and will be courtesy in person to all the bloody Gryffindors, I promise.” She tried not to think about the fact that Hannah Abbot would be there as well.

“Anybody wants ice cream?”

When the boys nodded, she stood up.

“My turn,” she said. “It’s a bribe, so that you won’t gossip about my mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is slow burn. I promise that in the next two chapters Neville is in for big surprises. *cackles evilly*


	14. Problem with anger management (August 27, 2004)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Blaise and Luna's wedding, and Neville speaks some truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might recognize some parts of this chapter from The Phoenix Potion (if you read it) where it was told from Ron's perspective.  
> I think it is important to see Neville's PoV here and that is why I decided to reiterate the scene. 
> 
> Thanks to maybe-hufflepuff for being my wonderful beta!
> 
> And Neville is just very, very close to realizing his own truths.... (*author chuckles evilly*)

As weddings go, Luna and Blaise’s wedding was perfect –at least for the bride and the groom. The weather was nice, and so far, neither Slytherins nor Gryffindors had drawn wands. Neville thought it had gone surprisingly well.

Hannah was not at her best though. She had been moody throughout the whole wedding ceremony and was currently scowling at Parkinson, when his colleague just wanted to share an interesting tidbit.

“I saw Marigold Selwyn in Muggle London last week,” she told Neville, “at an ice cream parlour.”

“Oh! Did she recognize you?” Neville wanted to know.

“We just nodded at each other. She was with other people, including Roger Doherty.”

Neville’s curiosity was piqued. “That’s the guy who used to be a Travers?”

Parkinson nodded.

“Did she seem happy?”

“Yes, they were all laughing, and she shared some stories about her job. You were right, she didn’t visit family in France. It looks like she’s adjusted well to muggle life.”

“And who might that Marigold be?” Hannah cut in.

It was then that Parkinson became aware of Hannah’s scowl.

“A squib we met during a case,” she said.

Neville put his finger in his collar to loosen it. The sunshine was nice, but, in this heat, he would need to cast another cooling charm soon.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you. I’ll be over there.” She pointed at another table where most of the Slytherins sat. It was one thing to refrain from hexing each other during the reception and another to actually mingle.

Neville suppressed a sigh. Hannah’s scowl had not been particularly welcoming. Apparently, Slytherins still had to be shunned. He got along quite well with them, and he would not have minded having a chat with Parkinson.

He could tell that Hannah did not feel the same. She was put out that she knew nothing about the Selwyn case and Neville explained to her patiently that he could hardly be expected to tell her about every case he ever worked on.

“It was only one afternoon, Hannah,” he finally said.

That caused her to stop asking and the meal at their Gryffindor table proceeded to be a nice chance to chat with friends. Harry and Ginny shared tales about the most absurd wedding presents they had received, Seamus and Dean chatted about their new life with their adopted baby, David, and Ron, slightly tipsy, flirted with Padma –the only Ravenclaw at the wedding. Seamus and Dean had even brought their baby who mostly slept contentedly in his little crib. Looking at David, Neville wondered how fast babies grew. David was just a little over a year younger than Rina, but he did little more than burb and gurgle, while Rina explored the whole garden on her little legs.

Just before the best man’s speech was on the programme, Neville bent over to Harry and remarked that Luna’s polite cue on the wedding invitation that anti wrackspurt spells were available to any guest, had served well in driving home the point.

Harry confided in him that Blaise had made it crystal clear that anyone who would upset Luna with a fight would be held accountable.

“Blaise didn’t threaten me,” Neville mused.

Harry laughed at that. “He probably assumed that you wouldn’t be prone to fighting anyway.”

Hannah chuckled at that as well and Neville was glad that her mood seemed improved.

It was a surprise that Blaise himself –instead of his anxious best man, Theo Nott– delivered a little funny speech that was well received by a round of good-natured applause.

“I liked the toast to ‘Potter’ very much,” Ginny remarked.

Harry fake-punched her. “Because he meant you.”

“Well, now we know why Luna wanted to marry after us,” Ginny shrugged.

“If he wanted Malfoy to be his best man, why didn’t he just invite him? It might have been a bit awkward, but still…”. Seamus was apparently perplexed by this information. It always surprised Neville that everyone seemed to assume that Malfoy vanishing into Muggle London meant that he had no friends in the wizarding world left.

Neville felt obliged to clarify. “Luna’s father is very ill. They didn’t want to wait. And Luna wanted Rina as a flower girl.”

“Even if they had waited, they could have hardly invited Hermione and Malfoy both, even after the ban.” Ron remarked.

Right at that moment, Neville thought that Blaise’s assessment of his character might be challenged. He felt a hot bubble stir inside him. He would have preferred to drop the subject of Malfoy immediately, but Ron did not react to Neville’s glare.

“Well, Hermione is going to get a divorce, now that the elves are sorted, isn’t she?” Ron told him. “She’s just stubborn about it and doesn’t want to admit that she was duped and drugged.”

“Ron. Don’t”. Harry chided his best friend.

“We promised Luna not to indulge wrackspurts in any way,” Ginny looked like she wanted to drop the subject as fervently as Neville did.

Neville felt a hot anger in his gut. Ron could not possibly continue to think that. He shook his head quite vehemently, although he did not really want to get into a fight. Not if that meant that Hannah would learn that Neville was deeply involved in the Malfoy mess as he called it in his head.

“What is it?” Ron addressed him with an aggressive tone that was probably helped along by all the champagne he had drunk.

“This is not going to happen, Ron”, Neville gritted his teeth at him. “There is no way this is going to happen.”

Harry and Ginny now joined in the collective glaring.

Neville did not really know what came over him. His temper was short today. He let the flat of his hand fall on the table and rose, standing straight.

“Wake up, Ron!”

Ron did not stop shooting angry looks at Neville. There was also a profound hurt in the depths of his eyes, but Neville ignored that.

“Look, it is really not that difficult. I’ve approached this problem by the Luna Zabini, née Lovegood, approved method and I made a list of possible outcomes –of anything that might happen after the contact ban ends.”

He raised his index finger. “One: Malfoy was framed, there was never any _amortentia_ or anything else involved. Hermione loves him. I don’t even need to spell out what will happen, eh?”

“Two, there was never any _amortentia_ involved, but the separation has led to an estrangement. Hermione doesn’t love him any longer… But there are the elves, and there is a possibility that somehow a divorce will unsettle the elf situation again. So even if feelings have grown stale, they might still decide to give it a try, if not for the elves –which is scenario A– then for their child, scenario B.” Neville ticked off his middle and ring finger.

Neville had seen Malfoy with his daughter –a doting father if he had ever seen one. Hannah would be livid if she knew Neville had taken up accompanying Luna on her little outings to Muggle playgrounds with Rina, where Malfoy could meet his daughter. Even if Neville did it mostly for Luna’s sake. And Parkinson’s of course. Because it would be her who would pay the price if that little arrangement ever came out.

“Three, _amortentia_ was involved, but elves are **still** there, **and** Rina.” Neville made his final point. Not that **he** believed _amortentia_ was involved, but not even Luna believed his theory about the _scutum_ spell.

Ron’s face closed. He was apparently unwilling to even entertain the idea. “A child can be raised alone. She’s done a good job so far. Hermione won’t stay with Malfoy. Not when she realises, she was a victim of _amortentia_. Not even for the bloody elves.”

Neville could hardly believe his ears. He gripped the tablecloth hard to rein himself in.

“Because sacrificing personal happiness for a greater cause is not something Hermione Granger does?“ He made no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “We’re talking about the woman who obliviated her own parents, so that she could hunt horcruxes with Harry.”

“That was far more important than the elves,” Ron argued. “I’m sure she’ll not sacrifice her lifelong happiness for elves. And the elves’ situation is settled anyway, I’m certain.”

Neville tried to bore his eyes into Ron’s, surprised by how Ron could delude himself to such a degree.

“Next possibility, _amortentia_ is involved, and despite the elves and Rina, Hermione decides to dump Malfoy because of that. Nobody would blame her for that.”

“See? She’ll need help then, because she’ll be devastated. And Harry and I will be there for her.”

That caused Neville to fly off the handle.

“You moron!” It somehow felt good to say that. “When did Hermione ever react well to someone who approaches her with a condescending ‘I told you so’? You should get this, Ron.”

He inhaled deeply and carried on. “Whatever the scenario, there is absolutely no chance you and she will be a couple again. No chance whatsoever. You’re lucky if she speaks to you again at some point in your life.”

Finally, Ron had no argument left.

“You did this all wrong, Harry and you. You should have approached her, and observed her, and should have made an effort to get real proof, if _amortentia_ was involved, instead of doing a full force legal attack…“

Neville would not miss the chance to finally say what was his problem with Harry and Ron’s approach to the _amortentia_ case. “You think Malfoy robbed her of her own free will and all you could come up with as a solution was to force her by law into a separation she most assuredly did not want....”

Neville could see that his surprise rant had gotten to Harry as well. Harry had blanched. It looked almost as if he were about to grind his teeth. Ron’s face was flushed. He was agitated and seemed to be barely holding back from punching Neville.

“I don’t know why you would defend Malfoy, Neville. The man was a Death eater, and a nightmare in school,” Hannah remarked. When it came to Malfoy, Hannah’s usual amiable nature was nowhere in sight. It turned her blind.

Neville rounded on her. “This is **not** about Malfoy, Hannah. This is about Hermione, my oldest friend, who saved my ass more times than I can tell, and not only in potions.”

“Is your defence of Parkinson about Hermione as well?” Hannah asked. Her distrust distorted her face.

Neville could feel even more burning anger. He thought he had never been so angry in his life.

“Parkinson is a superb auror, if I say so. It is only the truth.” His voice sounded strained in his own ears.

Ron shook his head. “Parkinson wanted to sell Harry to Voldemort, remember?”

Neville slammed his hand on the table again, hard. “Are you going to judge her by **one** sentence she said when she feared for the lives of her parents, siblings and Merlin knows how many cousins?”

How did none of his Gryffindor friends understand how difficult it had been for the snakes?

“She participated in the lessons of the Carrows like all Slytherins,” Ron insisted doggedly.

Neville felt his jaw clench until he thought he could not talk any longer.

“Don’t talk about 7th year, Ron. You have no idea. You were off, camping with Harry, you have no idea,” he pressed out.

“That is absolutely true, Ron, sorry mate.” Seamus interjected, backing Neville at least in this.

“I don’t hold that against Pansy, Ron, and neither should you.” Harry had regained his composure and obviously had decided to be reasonable. Neville was relieved, but only for a short moment, because Harry nodded at someone behind him.

Neville turned. Parkinson stood there, well within earshot of their last exchange. Neville wished he could disapparate at this very moment. She must have noticed. She must have heard. His head swam and he wondered why he was so flustered.

“Neville has it right. Pansy is an amazing auror. And we make a great team, don’t we, Pansy?” Harry smiled at her.

Neville’s thoughts whirled in a dizzying circle. The one thought that somehow stuck was his inability to remember when Harry had begun to call Parkinson by her name.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said in a voice that sounded flustered. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Let me guess,” Harry said. “Luna sent you over to make sure we are not getting overwhelmed by wrackspurts.” His smile looked a bit forced, as if he were holding on to his own temper by a hair’s breadth. His face still held a deathly pallor.

“Exactly. Well deduced,” Parkinson’s voice was calm as ever. The flustered tone was gone, driven out by her collected manner.

“I’ll go tell Luna I am sorry,” Neville somehow managed to say, although it felt as if the words left his mouth without his volition.

“I’ll rein myself in. Maybe I should get an anti-wrackspurt treatment.”

He had to get away. Fast. Maybe an anti-wrackspurt treatment **and** a firewhiskey would be a good idea.


	15. Hit by two bludgers at once (August 27, 2004)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville is confronted with several revelations. That is not how he expected Luna and Blaise's wedding to go.

It was only several hours later that Hannah caught up with him again.

“Neville?” she had materialised at his left elbow while Neville was chatting with Theo Nott about his plans to write children’s books. She gave Theo a strained smile.

Neville shook himself. He had had more firewhiskeys than he was accustomed to.

“Excuse us, Nott, I need to steal my boyfriend for a bit.” Hannah determinedly steered Neville away from the Slytherin until they stood a bit apart from the other party guests.

Neville fought the urge to squirm under her scrutinizing gaze.

“I just overheard something Luna said to Hermione and that had me thinking.” Hannah’s eyes bore into his.

“Yes?”

“Rina was trying to pronounce her godmother’s name. She calls her Lulu at the moment.”

Neville smiled. “That’s adorable, isn’t it?”

“Then she pointed at you and said ‘Lolo’.”

The urge to squirm almost overwhelmed him.

“Luna said Rina probably wanted to say ‘Longbottom’, but she can’t pronounce that yet.”

“That is ridiculous.” Neville scoffed. “Why would she call me Longbottom?”

“Why indeed, Nev?” Hannah asked.

She looked at his hands. “There is no need to throttle the firewhiskey glass to death.”

Neville saw with surprise that his fingers had gone white. He stepped aside and carefully put his glass on a nearby table. He was glad that the glass had not shattered in his grip.

“I do have an explanation, but I don’t like it very much.”

Neville did not know where to look.

“I know Luna takes Rina to the playground quite often. Let’s just assume for a minute that she meets someone there who does not call you Neville.”

Neville wished he could throttle the glass to death again and regretted that he had put it away.

“Someone you just defended, quite vehemently.”

“I just told Ron what will most likely happen once the contact ban is over.”

“He drugged Hermione. I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t think he did,” Neville gave up on denying anything. “I think Hermione fell in love when he placed her under the _scutum_ spell.”

Hannah scowled. “And that is different how? He still **made** her fall in love.”

“The difference is the intention, Hannah. Surely you must see that. He wanted to save her not cause her to fall for him against her will.”

Hannah scoffed. “It still means she’s not fallen for him of her own free will.”

“Anyway, I told you this is not about Malfoy.” Like every time they fought, there came a point where Neville dug his heels in.

Hannah shook her head. “How is this not about Malfoy when you practically give auror approval to him meeting his daughter.”

“It’s about Luna.” How could Hannah not see that. “I don’t want her to get into trouble.”

Hannah’s frown smoothed – a tiny bit.

“And Parkinson.”

“Parkinson?” The frown was back in place.

“Yes, Parkinson. If Luna’s little outings ever come out, it will be her, who’ll be in trouble. She’s the one who is in contact with Malfoy.”

“Parkinson.” Hannah said. Her voice sounded bitter.

“Yes, Parkinson. Why do you think I should not care?” Neville could feel the anger rising in his guts again. That he had drunk more than usual probably didn’t help.

Hanna inhaled very slowly. She didn’t answer his question. They stood still, staring at each other for a long moment. Neville felt a strange yearning in his heart. Why could Hannah not understand him?

“Nev,” she finally said. She laid a hand on his arm. “You’ve never realized, have you?”

“Realized what?” His patience was wearing thin. What was wrong with him today? He never snapped at people.

Suddenly, there was sorrow in her eyes.

“Neville, how does Parkinson drink her tea?”

Neville frowned. “Black with just a pinch of sugar, not more than half a spoon.”

Hannah closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her eyes were glistening, as if she had pressed back tears.

“How do I drink my tea, Neville?” Her voice was so low he barely heard her.

Neville opened his mouth. “You…” He hesitated.

“With just a dash of milk?” When the words had left his mouth, he knew that Hannah had heard the question mark. He flinched in embarrassment.

Hannah’s eyelids fluttered and Neville saw that her lashes were wet.

“You love her, and you don’t even know. I could almost pity you.”

He had never played quidditch but he suddenly understood what the saying ‘hit by two bludgers at once’ meant. All air had left his lungs. His heart beat hard as if it wanted to make his ribcage burst into a thousand piercing pieces. He felt dizzy.

He could not have said how long they stood there, or at what point he had begun to breathe again. Parkinson. Pansy.

He heard his own laboured breathing and still did not know what to say.

“Oh Nev, you bloody idiot,” she said. “How could you be that oblivious?”

Hannah was crying in earnest now, but there were no sobs, just tears running down her cheeks.

“There was a tiny part of me that hoped I was mistaken.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Neville whispered.

“You don’t deny it.”

Neville shook his head. He reached out to Hannah with trembling fingers.

She swatted his fingers away and Neville let his hands drop to his side where they hung like useless extensions of his body.

Hannah drew a shuddering breath. “I won’t stay with a man who does not love me. I deserve better.”

His heart clenched in anxiety and pity. “I…”

“Spare me your apologies. I know you are sorry, but I can’t bear to listen to that now.”

She wiped at her eyes angrily. “Good luck, Neville. My only consolation is that there probably is nothing that can melt Parkinson’s icy heart –not even you.”

“She…” Neville stuttered and caught himself before he fell into the habit of defending Pansy again. Hannah would not want to hear that.

And indeed, Hannah raised her hand to silence him. “I think I’ll apparate home now. Enjoy the rest of the party.”

Neville watched her retreating figure still in a daze. As if of their own volition, his feet carried him back to the table. He grabbed his glass, still trying to understand what had happened. He downed the remaining firewhiskey in one go.

“Want more?” Theo asked him. He held a bottle in hand, a relaxed and happy smile on his face.

Neville nodded numbly.

“Your idea was marvellous,” Theo told him. He gestured at Hermione who had come to stand by the table as well, Rina on her arm. “Hermione has given me tips about muggle children’s books and I’m sure I’ll get some inspiration from them.”

“I guess you could even copy them word for word and sell them in the wizarding world. Nobody but a few muggleborns would even know,” Neville remarked. It was the first thing that came into his head and usually he would never have voiced that thought aloud.

“Are you o.k., Nev?” Hermione asked.

“Hannah just broke up with me,” Neville blurted out. He took a generous swallow. The firewhiskey burned in his mouth, but it hurt far less than his heart.

“What?” Hermione stared. “How did she break up with you? At a wedding?”

“Why?” Theo’s face had fallen. “Why would she break up with a nice chap like you?”

Neville gave them a lopsided smile. “It’s complicated.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione laid a hand on his arm, unknowingly repeating Hannah’s gesture.

“Not really,” Neville shook his head. “I think I’ll just go and brood in a corner for a while.”

“Just don’t drown your sorrow in firewhiskey, Neville,” Theo said. “Unless you have a good hangover potion.”

He could feel their worried looks on his back as he made his way to a corner of the garden. The long summer day came to an end and dusk was settling in. Neville found a nice broad elm tree and rounded it to lean against it out of sight of the party guests. He closed his eyes.

He should be devastated. He should be mourning his relationship with Hannah. He should feel remorse that he had deluded himself so long about his real feelings and that he had hurt Hannah.

But all these feelings were drowned in images of Pansy that floated through his head. Pansy’s black hair, shining when sunlight settled on her bob. How her skirt always seemed to sit snug at her hips, how her rare laughter chimed, how her eyes shone when she was on a case, how she would not take nonsense from anybody. He felt so overwhelmed by his feelings, he feared he would drown and wondered how he had lied to himself for such a long time.

***

Neville was drawn from his reverie when he heard Blaise’s voice. He was probably standing close by, because Neville could hear him quite well.

“Care to tell me what kind of ruckus was going on at the Gryffindor table? I tried to get Ginny to tell me what was up, but she closed up like an oyster.”

Neville almost jumped when he heard it was Pansy who answered.

“Considering Weasley looked like he was about to spontaneously combust I guess they discussed Draco, or Granger –or anything related to the _amortentia_ mess.”

“I hope Neville did not let slip about the playground meetings.”

“What playground meetings?”

“Draco told you last week, Pans!”

“I must have forgotten.” Pansy’s voice was flat.

“Sorry, you’re too good at this. Could have fooled me, of course you don’t know anything.” Blaise laughed. “It looked like Neville and Ron would come to a brawl.”

“Well, Weasleys fists were balled and everyone else was as tense as a bowstring.”

“And Neville was the only one I didn’t give the ‘no fighting’ warning. I wonder what made him lose his temper.”

“I have no idea. I only arrived when Longbottom had already decided to get Luna’s special anti wrackspurt treatment.” She gave a bright, light-hearted laugh. “Believe it or not, they discussed yours truly and my attempt to deliver Harry to Voldemort. Mortifying.”

Neville felt blood rush to his face. Ron must have already seen Pansy when he made that remark. He became angry all over again.

“You don’t look very mortified,” Blaise noted. He sounded just a bit smug. “You look happy.”

Pansy was silent for a moment.

“He defended me and said I am a good auror.”

Neville could barely catch her words.

“Did he now? Do I sense someone being almost beside herself about that? Surely that means he likes you! At the very least. Your Gryffindor hero?”

Neville’s blood suddenly began to pound in his ears, his heart clenched in pain. There was only one Gryffindor hero and that was not him.

“You know very well he is not **my** Gryffindor hero.” Pansy’s voice sounded pressed.

“That might….“ Blaise began but Pansy cut him short.

“You know very well he is spoken for and I am not that kind of person.”

Spoken for. Yes, of course, Pansy would never become a homewrecker. She would not drive a wedge between Harry and Ginny, the happy newlyweds.

“More’s the pity. I think there should be more Slytherin – Gryffindor pairings. Excellent enemies become enamoured lovers. Imagine all the bickering.”

Suddenly Neville remembered one of the heated discussions between Harry and Pansy. Pansy’s cheeks flushed when she got angry. Somehow his hands had balled into fists.

“Please don’t tease, Blaise. It’s difficult enough as it is.”

“I’m sorry, you know I usually joke when it gets too serious.”

Pansy laughed shakily.

“Ah, serious.” She sighed.

Neville bit hard on his thumb to keep himself from crying out in dismay. Pansy was seriously in love.

“You know, back when I thought Luna would never love me, there was the consolation that she at least could like me.” Blaise sounded uncharacteristically earnest and a tiny part of Neville registered his astonishment that Blaise had, at one time, not been sure that he could win Luna over.

“Well, I’ve known for quite some time that there will never be more than ‘liking me’.” Her voice was so different from her usual professional collectedness.

“One day I will wake up and I’ll be over it,” she stated with a firm voice. “So enough of that. Someone should separate Theo from Granger. I swear her ears look seriously chewed off.”

Neville could hear Blaise and Pansy’s voices talking about the next upcoming wedding of Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass fading with every step away from the elm tree.

He stood rooted for a long while. Pansy was the proof. Saving a person with the _scutum_ spell from an unforgivable did indeed cause love, deep love, if Pansy’s voice was anything to go by.

Neville pressed his hot face to the bark of the tree and tried to calm himself. Hannah had broken up with him because he loved Pansy, and Pansy had fallen for Harry, the Gryffindor hero. All because of that bloody _scutum_ spell Severus Snape had invented. The next time Neville would be at Hogwarts he would spit on the potions professor’s grave, war hero or not.

He cursed loudly. If Hermione’s example was anything to go by, love induced by the _scutum_ would not fade away easily. And where did that leave him? He was deeply and utterly in love with a woman who had fallen for his good friend Harry. Harry, the hero, the saviour. Even if it were not for the _scutum_ , how could he compete with the man who had single-handedly saved everybody?

And he couldn’t even tell anybody about this. Certainly not his granny, not Ron, who would probably skin Pansy alive, not Luna, who might know about Pansy’s ill-fated love. He could not tell Ginny who probably would apparate to Pansy immediately to lecture her. He tried to picture himself telling Hannah about it. She would probably laugh about the irony that Pansy’s heart was not made of ice like she had said, but that it was not for Neville either.

It was a worried Luna who finally separated him from the tree. At the very least, repeatedly banging his head at the tree had not left a dent in the bark.

“Oh Merlin, Neville,” she exclaimed. “I’ve never seen so many beings around one person!”

Neville looked at his friend. It was her wedding. Not even the complete tangle of his feelings would make him forget that.

“You look lovely, Luna,” he told her. “Such a happy bride.”

She shook her head. “You, Neville, look dreadful. I’ve never seen invidimidges around you. Why are you jealous? There are some limpipinkies as well, but you are practically drowned in wrackspurts!”

Luna waved her wand and did her anti-wrackspurt move.

“I certainly did not expect to have to perform this on you twice in a single day!”

Neville forced himself to smile at her effort.

She frowned at him. “That didn’t work very well.”

Neville laughed, although he felt like he should cry. “I can well believe that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's time for the truth for poor Neville and my favourite chapter so far. 
> 
> If you like it, tell me. I love to hear your opinions.


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